


The Virtues of a Well-Kept Man

by itsjustliah



Category: Original Work
Genre: Breeding, Dom/sub, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Femdom, Fictional Religion & Theology, Gender Role Reversal, Male Submissive, Master/Servant, Matriarchal society, Matriarchy, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Sexual Slavery, Non-Sexual Submission, Original Character(s), Power Dynamics, Prostate Milking, Sexual Slavery, Woman on Top
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22858252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsjustliah/pseuds/itsjustliah
Summary: In a matriarchal society, men strive to prove themselves worthy of their female betters that keep them in their employ.
Comments: 69
Kudos: 428





	1. Prologue: How You Keep a Man

"This is how you keep a man."

Euphemia was thirteen when her mother brought her into the breeder's keep.

Confused, still full from supper, but more than anything, curious, she followed the family matriarch down the dark hallway, through the now unlocked, now unforbidden door, and cautiously entered the kept man's quarters.

A single candle lit the modest bedroom from a shelf mounted on the wall by the door. Her mother had taken her favorite pose -- arms folded behind her back, chin held high -- in the small space between the wooden bed frame on the left wall and the steel contraption on the right wall.

On, or _in_ said contraption, was Miheil, her mother's kept man. Despite knowing they were in his quarters, it took her a moment to realize it was him, mostly because all she could see of him was his bare ass and cock, on full display. She gasped and looked away, but a sharp _"Euphemia!"_ from her mother snapped her attention back to the sight at hand.

As she stared, she took in the details of the metal bars and leather straps that kept in him place. Without them, he would have appeared to be lying prostate upon the wooden base of the breeder's table, hands clasped with white-knuckled grip by his head, forehead pressed to the surface, eyes squeezed shut. The bar twixt his thighs and belly held his rear up for display, while the bar across his knees and shins kept him from escaping the device altogether. His bare skin glistened with sweat, his ass and thighs tinged a slight pink, likely from her mother's earlier ministrations. Between his cloven cheeks, his entrance -- his _keeper's hole --_ trembled and winked.

"M-Mother?"

"Euphemia," the matriarch began, head held high. "Why do we keep our men?"

_Another lecture,_ she thought. Best to answer promptly. "It is their place."

"And what is their place?"

"To prove themselves worthy of planting their seed within us."

"Good." Euphemia's mother gestured with her chin to the shelf on the wall. "Hand me that blue bottle."

The girl did as she was told, though the confusion was apparent in her expression.

"Remember this, Euphemia. Men are weak." Her mother undid the wrappings at the top of the bottle and pulled the stopper free. A tilt of her wrist, and a generous flow of viscous liquid poured from the container into her dominant hand. She worked her fingers into the gel as she continued her lecture. "That is why you must learn how to properly _keep_ them."

She took a step forward towards Miheil and placed her dry hand on one half of his rear. The sudden touch drew a sharp gasp from his lips, but he didn't protest. Euphemia watched as the muscles in his thighs tensed, then shivered as two of her mother's slick fingers encircled his rear entrance. With a smooth, clean movement, she pressed inwards, digits disappearing up to the second knuckle with hardly any resistance. It was only then that Mihel let out his first whimper -- one that quickly escalated into a breathy cry as her mother rotated her wrist and pressed her fingertips upwards.

_"Here_ is where you'll keep a man." She spoke as calmly as she had when instruction Euphemia on how to fertilize the flowerbed or clean the henhouse. "When you come of age, you'll try it for yourself. For now, simply watch."

Euphemia did just that, eyes glued to the sight of her mother's fingers reemerging from the kept man's depths, then plunging back in to the sound of squelching fluids and a quiet groan. Her throat felt dry. Her thighs squeezed shut around the growing warmth at her pelvis.

Miheil, the kept man who'd been in her mother's service for a few years now. He'd taught her how to properly cook meatloaf.

The kept man gasped. Her mother answered. "Speak up."

Miheil, the gentle servant who'd sneak her biscuits past her bedtime if she asked nicely.

_"Harder--!"_ He choked. His toes curled. His shins strained at the iron bar. _"Please!"_

Miheil, who had tried so _hard_ to win her mother's affections, but had not yet succeeded. _Unbred,_ her mother's friends had called him.

Flesh and muscle quivered around those fingers as they thrust deep within him, again, and again, and _again._ A sharp cry, a voice wrought with tension and pleasure. _"Please!"_

Miheil was a kept man. _Kept_ by his mother. By wood, leather, and steel. By those thin, callused fingers, fucking the hopeful breeder senseless.

His eyes fluttered open, half-lidded, following after his slackened jaw. From her position at the half-open door, Euphemia couldn't tell if he were smiling or grimacing.

_"Beg."_ Her mother's stern voice darkened.

Miheil complied immediately. _"Please, mistress, please, please, please--"_

_"Finish."_

The kept man cried out, though his voice was suddenly strangled and cut-off midway through, dissolving into a series of sharp, arrhythmic gasps. Her mother kept her hand at his entrance, but Euphemia could still see the twitching of his innards around her digits. His spine and thighs jerked once, then twice, sending a rattling shake through the iron frame of the breeder's table. Between his trembling legs, his metal-trapped manhood, straining red and raw against its chastity cage, spewed forth a milky, watery liquid that splattered against the worn wood beneath it.

"Euphemia."

The girl was so transfixed by the sight before her that her mother's words caused her to nearly jump out of her skin. "Y-yes, mother!"

"The towel."

Shaking, Euphemia snatched the dirty rag from the shelf and handed it to her mother, who used it to wipe the excess gel from her fingers.

"To a man, there is no greater pleasure than that which he derives from the act you just witnessed." She tossed the damp rag at the wet puddle on the breeder's table. "Provide him with it regularly, and he will follow you to the edge of the stars."

Her hand lifted to rest on his shin. This time, he gave no reaction to the touch. Euphemia's gaze flickered to the kept man's dazed expression. It hadn't changed.

"Do you understand?"

She glanced back to her mother. She wore the same expression, too; strong, stalwart, unfazed. This was commonplace. A more than weekly occurrence, from the schedule that Euphemia was now just piecing together in her mind. This was the way of things, of their people, of their very _kind._ The gods had _built_ men to function this way. To _beg_ for the things only women could provide them. She'd taken those words to mean a woman's inherent life-bringing abilities, but now, she knew the _true_ meaning of them. Of _everything._

_Gods, her loins were burning._

She swallowed her spit.

'Yes, mother." 


	2. Writs of Ownership

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Euphemia Dawnmount, a lawwoman specialized in the handling of cases pertaining to kept men, is suddenly pressured to take on another kept man herself.

"I'm afraid you don't have much of a case, Lady Fulemme."

The young blonde gasped and sputtered at the podium, smacking her hand on the copper-framed wood. "But-- but the writ is _signed_ and _dated,_ your ladyship!"

"Signatures and dates mean very little when the previous keeper and witness were both intoxicated."

Fulemme glanced towards the accusing party at the opposite podium, then to the modestly dressed kept man on the floor between them, before continuing her ridiculous argument. "But they weren't drunk, they were--"

" _Intoxication_ means impaired by any manner of mind-altering substance, Lady Fulemme." Euphemia explained. She was trying her best to keep the exhaustion out of her voice. "Some would argue that your being the sole clear-headed party during this would-be transaction could be considered proof of _criminal_ intent."

The defending party shut her mouth, teeth clenched so hard, Euphemia could practically hear them grinding from her seat on the raised dais.

She continued. "In any matter, my decision is final. The kept man is still legally the property of Lady Emiline Miste. The governor's office will produce a revised writ of ownership for Lady Miste's safekeeping, and a guard of two enforcers will be dispatched to Lady Fulemme's place of residence to collect any effects that are bound to the illegitimate writ, as well as two hundred gubernatorial marks for the inconvenience."

With that, she coated her official stamp with blue ink, then pressed it onto the official order. A heavy sigh of relief echoed off the brick walls of the judgment chamber as Lady Miste stood and collected her belongings, followed immediately by another sputtered-out complaint.

"I-- I _appeal_ your decision!" The misguided blonde demanded, smacking the podium, even as her accuser was leaving the premises. "Nowhere in the law does it specifically mention intoxication by hornflower would void the--"

"Lady Fulemme!" Euphemia cut her off with a sharp raise of her voice. "If you are _foolish_ enough to make such an appeal, then you may do so _in writing_. You are dismissed."

The woman gasped and gaped, but eventually gave in, mumbling something about _"appeals"_ and _"the absolute gall of the mayor's office"._ Soon, Euphemia found herself alone in the chambers with naught but the scratching of her pen to fill the void.

A few long, empty minutes later, the silence was broken by the door swinging open once more, revealing a welcome, familiar figure.

"Euphie." The hulking woman barked. "You done yet?"

"Nearly." She glanced at the clock. A minute to five. "You're early."

"Figured you might be."

With a crack of her neck, Regitina Redstorm strolled into the empty judgment chambers. Her enforcer's belt hung heavy at her waist, but it didn't seem to weigh her down. Not that it could, given her twice-a-day workout regimen. Thick as an oak tree, hair shorn close to her head, and sporting a handsome smile, Regitina was the perfect image of the city's respected Public Safety Enforcement office -- or she would be, if she had bothered to keep her uniform on after hours. Her regal enforcer's coat was slung over her shoulder now, revealing a sweat- and spaghetti-sauce-stained tank top that had seen better days. Lying just above the low-scooping neckline was a set of five iron keys, one for each of her kept men, hanging from a tiny silver chain. Reg was _ever_ the show-off.

"You see that sweet piece Miste was escorting out?" Regitina let out a whistle as she slumped into the defendant's chair. "Green eyes and perfect teeth."

"Didn't have time to _admire_ those while I was working."

"You really should've. I'd pay good money to get those eyes lookin' up at me while he's buryin' his tongue in my cunt."

"Could you reserve your disgusting quips for the bar, Reg?" Euphemia sighed. She crossed the final T on her report, then gathered her papers into her arms and stood. "Though it would seem you're not the only one. Lady Fulemme seemed hell-bent on taking that man as her own, even by dubious means."

"I'm surprised the bitch even agreed to fight it legally. She really think she had a leg to stand on?"

"If she did, she's about as dumb as she looks."

The lawwoman hopped down from the dais, papers tucked under one arm. "Come with me to drop these at the mayor's office."

"If you buy me a beer."

"Sure."

She tapped one of Regitina's bulging shoulders with a lithe fist, then made for the door, companion following closely after. Her hand reached for the light switch -- though really, she wasn't sure if she'd _ever_ get used to this _electricity_ the mayor was rolling out in the city -- and extinguished the electric lamps. They darkened with nary a flicker. So _strange._

They made small talk as she went about her final business of the day. Though Euphemia would be the first to insist that her job was boring, in reality, they both had plenty of entertaining stories to exchange. Reg's story of the day was of a brawl in the marketplace that had knocked over a display of vegetables and injured no less than three bystanders. Luckily, none of them were kept men, or the trouble would have found itself in Euphemia's chambers, too. 

Once the papers had been passed to the Mayor's secretary -- a curt, red-haired man named Sam -- the pair made their way down the never-ending halls of the legal hall and out the double-doors into the street. The sun was setting, and the newly-installed electric lampposts had already turned on. _What will the lamp-lighters do now,_ she thought idly, taking in the yellow-white glow that illuminated the older stone buildings of the city center. 

"So." Reg began.

When Euphemia turned to look, she saw a sheepish grin spreading across her face. _Oh, gods._ "What did you do, Reg?" She groaned.

"I haven't _done_ anything!" The enforcer laughed, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "Mother above, you need to learn to drop your attitude when you get off the clock."

"It's not an attitude, Reg. It's _me._ "

"Right, right." She used the hand on her shoulder to pull her closer, then hooked that same hand around her lean bicep and gave it a squeeze. "Mind if we make a quick stop on our way to the bar? Swear it won't take long."

Euphemia regarded Regitina with barely disguised doubt. "I can't be out too long."

"Oh, Kihel'll be fine without ya for a few more tolls of the bell. You worry too much about him, anyway." Another squeeze at her arm. "C'mon, quick in and out."

"As long as I can wait outside," Euphemia sighed. "Fine."

* * *

As expected, Regitina's _quick in and out_ was more of a jaunt than she'd let on. One turn down a side street led to another, then another, until the width of the cobblestone path was barely enough for the both of them to walk shoulder-to-shoulder.

Just as Euphemia was about to voice her final complaint, Reg stopped before a modest-looking door and gave it a firm knock with one of her gigantic fists. There was a shuffling noise inside that lasted longer than was proper, but eventually, the door swung open, revealing a frantic-looking woman with streaks of grey in her black hair.

"Ah, Lady Redstorm, please, come in!" She lay a hand on Regitina's wrist and gently tugged her inside -- a familiar gesture that immediately replaced the frustration on the lawwoman's face with suspicion. When Euphemia didn't immediately follow, Reg beckoned, and she was forced to join her inside.

The home was small, like all of the newer buildings in the city's poorer district. Euphemia was no stranger to small living rooms, so she found herself a spot by the door and stood, waiting for Reg to hopefully finish her business quickly.

"I didn't think you'd come this fast," the homeowner fretted, hands wringing at her breasts. "I'm afraid I didn't have time to prepare anything more than--"

"It's fine, she won't want 'em." Reg chuckled. "You go get him."

The woman nodded hastily, then slid open the door behind her and disappeared into the hall. When she was one, Reg turned her attention to the half-daydreaming lawwoman in the corner and gestured towards the table with her chin.

"Euphie, com'over here and have a seat."

Euphemia looked up towards Reg, then to the dining table to her left, and the objects set upon it. Legal papers, and not just any -- papers she was intimately familiar with.

_Writ of Ownership._

_A kept man's papers._

"Reg." The lawwoman began slowly, trying her best to temper her anger. "How many times have I told--"

"Look, Euphie," she hissed quietly, hands raised defensively. "I know, I know, you don't _want_ another, but I _also_ know Kihel hasn't been able to help out all that much lately, and you've been a hell of a lot more stressed 'cause of it, I can tell. Mariella here's a friend of a good friend, and she's been hopin' for a good woman to take her son in for a long while. If he's a bother, I'll take 'im myself, but please, just meet the boy, give him a look-over, and maybe consider keepin' him, yeah? Even if it's just for a coupl'a months. Alright?"

Any other time, Euphemia would have regarded the slight accent that came out in Reg's frantic speech as endearing. Now, it only annoyed her, if only because it was convincing her to give this Mariella and her son a chance.

"Fine." She groaned, one hand massaging her temple. "I'll meet him, but _don't_ expect me to say yes just because you've promised this poor woman I'll take him off her hands."

Reg grinned and pulled out a chair, which Euphemia promptly slumped into. This had _not_ been part of her plan, but technically, it still wasn't. She could always say no. She had more than enough problems to deal with than _another_ man wandering around her home.

A few tense moments later, the hallway door slid open, revealing the middle-aged woman, Mariella. Trailing closely behind her was the son in question. Euphemia kept a close eye on him as they entered and took their place at the table across from her, as was customary. Reg stood between them at the head, witnessing the discussion and would-be transaction.

The first thing she noticed was his height. It wasn't uncommon for men to be taller than their female betters, but this one was on the _towering_ side of tall. Despite that, he was lean, with what little muscle he possessed clinging to his shoulders and arms. His blue eyes, not uncommon, were cast down at the concrete floor below, though they did flicker up once or twice to glance at her. He placed his hands on the table as he sat, revealing long fingers that were slightly callused. So he'd been put to work already. That was good.

Good, but so far as she could tell, nothing more than typical, so she reached for the papers that had been set before her and began to read. Luckily, she'd handled so many of these documents, she knew what she was looking for.

_Ari. 19 years of age. D-Grade Breeder._

She glanced back up at the shy man. Did that seem right? Height usually bumped a man's value up at least to a C, if not a B, but perhaps there was something she hadn't noticed. His features were attractive, that she could admit, especially the soft dusting of freckles across his cheeks, and the dusty blonde hair that was just long enough to be pinned back. There must have been _some_ sort of catch that would downgrade him from a higher breeding classification.

Euphemia read on. She flipped past the page that detailed his pedigree, something some women preferred to investigate, but one that was of little interest to her. The third page, detailing his medical history, was what she was searching for, and there, she found her answer.

"Epilepsy?"

Mariella nodded, wringing her hands even now. "Prone to fits, milady."

"Any known trigger?"

"No, milady. B-but don't worry, he doesn't seize, it's -- it's more of a _sleeping_ fit, if you understand."

"I don't, but the papers seem legitimate." She murmured, glancing at the fourth and final page of legal indications. "Is that why you've failed to find a woman willing to keep him?"

"I'm afraid so, milady. Many women are fearful he'll pass on this dreadful trait to her daughters or sons, despite the doctor's insistence that the trait is, ah, recessive."

"I see." Euphemia set her hand atop the small packet of papers and turned her attention to the quarry in question. The silence forced his gaze upwards again, but as soon as his pretty eyes met hers, they went straight back to staring at the grain of the table.

_Gods be good,_ Euphemia thought. _I can't believe I'm actually considering this._

"May I ask him a few questions?"

His mother's eyes widened, and her sorry grimace turned to a grin. "Oh, yes, of course! Go on, now, Ari, dear, and don't be shy."

Euphemia would have laughed if it weren't so improper. The thought of the boy before her _not_ being shy was ridiculous. He looked like a terrified cat who'd rather be hiding under the table than sitting before her. Of course, there were a few women who would prefer him under their tables as well, Reg included, but Euphemia was not that lecherous.

"What are your skills?"

The young man opened his mouth to speak and stammered out a reply. "I-- I'm skilled in the masculine arts, cooking, cleaning, maintenance of the home, of course, as-- as well as-- a ple-thora of other useful abilities, milady." He mangled the unfamiliar word as it passed through his pretty little lips. It was adorable, really, and that realization made her all the more annoyed.

Cute as he was, Euphemia wasn't going to let him off easy, like other women might. "Tell me about them."

The unkept son stammered some more, unable to find any words. When he glanced towards his mother, the woman reached up and smacked him across the back of the head with a hissed-out _"speak!"_

A sign of a poor upbringing, really, or poor tutors. Men were expected to be well-articulated, good at holding conversation, and above all, charming and convincing of their good qualities. That was clearly not the case with this Ari; proof that his mother had not given him the proper training.

Not like Euphemia could blame Mariella for that. Had she known her son was prone to fits, and likely reclassified as an F-Grade male upon ripening to age twenty, she might not have taught her son how to properly interact with a would-be keeper, either.

To his credit, he tried to speak once more, though she couldn't help but notice the slight wetness that came to his eyes. "I-- I'm a skilled carpenter, milady."

She shouldn't have been surprised, but there it was, all the same. "A carpenter? You have a specialization?"

"F-furniture, milady."

That was a promising ability. Indicative of both physical prowess and latent spacial intelligence, among other things.

"Anything else?"

"I-I must beg you allow me the opportunity to show you those skills in person, milady."

A traditional response, one the lawwoman had heard thousands of times in transactions she herself had witnessed. At least that showed he could follow directions well enough.

Euphemia let out a quiet sigh and gave him one more look-over. Despite his shortcomings, it _would_ be nice to have a bit more help around the home, what with Kihel's condition. That, and he _was_ cute. Reg's words from earlier about _eyes looking up at her from between her thighs_ came to mind, and heat stirred between her legs. 

_Damn it all._

"Very well. I'll keep him for you."

A wave of emotion enveloped the mother across from her, tears swelling in her eyes. Before she could thank her, though, the lawwoman made sure to clarify.

"If he gives me any trouble, Lady Redstorm will take ownership of him in my stead. Understood, Lady Redstorm?"

Reg grimaced, but nodded all the same.

"He won't be any trouble at all, Lady Dawnmount! I swear it upon the Mother and all her children, no trouble at all! Isn't that right, Ari?"

"Yes, milady." He chimed, straightening up his back. "No trouble at all, milady."

Euphemia pulled the fountain pen from her pocket and spread the pages out upon the table. " _Mistress_ now, Ari."

The man flushed, then corrected himself. "M-mistress Dawnmount, mi-- my mistress!"

Trying her best to ignore Reg and Mariella's grinning, Euphemia printed her name, then signed and dated the writ of ownership.

_It's official, then._ She thought, watching Mariella, then Reg add their signatures to the document. _Yet another man in my care._

Once Ari had been shooed off to collect his few belongings, his mother turned her attention to the copper chain around her neck, fumbling at the clasp with sweaty fingers, but eventually pulling it free.

"Please." She murmured, holding her son's key out towards her with a trembling arm. "Keep him safe."

"I will keep him well," the lawwoman replied, accepting the still-warm necklace and pulling it around her own neck. The metal made a quiet rattling as it slid against the first copper chain. It was all for show, really; Euphemia would add the key to her current chain when she returned home, then send Reg back with the new one when the moment was right.

The boy reemerged from the depths of the home with a small fabric bundle. After saying his goodbyes to his mother -- which took _far_ longer than should be proper -- he offered Euphemia a quick bow, then followed her out into the street.

"So much for going to the bar," she sighed, running a hand through her shoulder-length hair. "Are you going to escort us home, then?"

Regitina clapped Euphemia on the shoulder, then gave Ari a hearty whack on the back. "What, and interrupt your first moments together? Not even _I'm_ that much of a dunce, Euphie."

Euphemia glared at her. "For that, you _will_ escort us back."

Reg's grin fell into a grimace. _"Fine."_

* * *

With a click and an audible groan, the door to the spare room of Euphemia's unit swung open. It stopped halfway through its arc, blocked by a pile of books that had gathered a half-centimeter-thick coating of dust.

"Hold on a moment." Euphemia muttered, shoving against the door with a shoulder and forcing it and the piles of junk behind it to slide against the floor. Eventually, there was enough room for the both of them to walk in, so she gestured to Ari, who followed obediently.

"We'll get the junk out of here within the week, but for now, make do. There's a cot in the other storage room you can set up to sleep in, as well as a few extra blankets. Make yourself comfortable for tonight."

The blonde eyed the musty room with some hesitation, but responded as he was trained to. "O-of course, mistress. May I--" He swallowed and tried again. "Am I allowed to move these things about freely, or..."

"Yes, but be careful. They should all fit in the other storage room, but if they don't, let me know. I assume you know how to move objects from point A to point B."

"O-of course, I do, mistress. I-- I look forward to showing you my many abilities."

Usually, the typical boasting would cause her to roll her eyes and be utterly disinterested. When stumbled over with that tongue and those hesitant eyes, however, she was almost keen to accept them -- or challenge him to show her those many abilities, perhaps _under a table, or--_

 _Gods be good,_ Reg really was getting to her, wasn't she?

"Right then, cot in the storage room. I'll get you a proper bed sometime this weekend." 

A glimmer came to the man's previously uneasy gaze. "I can-- If you like, I can build one, mistress."

_Right._ He'd said something about carpentry. That would certainly be cheaper, and helpful, too. Proving his worth early -- something his mother had taught him, hopefully.

"Is that so?" She folded her arms across her chest, her flat demeanor picking up a bit of color. "Have you bought carpentry tools and materials before, then?'

"I have, mistress. With your permission, I can travel to the markets with some money, pick out the necessary goods, and have it constructed before the end of the week!" The energy that came to his expression did not go unnoticed. _Cuter than I expected,_ she thought, regarding his eager smile with some interest. _Maybe this won't be a total bust after all._

"Very well." She cracked her neck, then turned to exit the room. "Take Kihel with you when you go."

"Kihel, mistress?"

Euphemia kept her focus away from Ari's inquisitive form. "My kept man." _Shit._ "My other kept man."

After a brief pause, Ari responded meekly, "I didn't know you had another, mistress."

"It is my right."

"O-of course it is, mistress." He murmured. "May I-- May I have the honor of meeting him, mistre--"

"No." She snapped. After a moment to consider, she added, "Not yet."

"Y-yes, mistress."

She shook off the tension that had overcome her momentarily and stepped out into the hall. "You're dismissed for the evening, Ari. Good night."

"Good night, mistress Eu-- Euphemia."

Her legs took her to her study more quickly than she had intended. She really shouldn't have felt agitated by his change in attitude. What right did he have, being offended that he wasn't the only kept man in the household? He was lucky she wasn't Reg, with her five A- and B-grade breeders fawning over her every moment of the day. She was probably knuckle-deep in two of them right now, for Mother's sake.

With a quiet huff, Euphemia slumped down into her desk chair and opened her small file cabinet. She pulled out the small folder labeled _Writs of Ownership_ and laid it open on the surface before her, Kihel's D-grade papers fluttering slightly in the brief breeze. Atop them, she set Ari's must crisper writ, thumbing the edge as she read over them one last time. 

_Ari. 19 years of age. D-Grade Breeder._

D-Grade was far lower than a woman of her intelligence and prestige deserved, but it didn't quite matter to her. She wasn't all that interested in breeding yet, anyway. One day, perhaps, but she was still relatively young -- twenty-two -- and had plenty of fertility in her yet. She would do her duty to society, as all women did, when the time was right, and the right man had proven himself worthy.

She glanced at the second page, at Ari's supposed D-Grade pedigree. There was science in these pedigrees she didn't have the mind for, but it was supposedly all there. Mariella's name in bold, descended from an Ariella, of good health and strong blood. Their chosen breeders' names were written below, along with their ownership and relevant pedigrees. _Gods,_ the numbers and letters assigned to this genetic system were enough to make Euphemia's eyes glaze over. Perhaps, if she cared enough, she'd have another lawwoman specialized in that area read it for her and tell her if this conspicuous blank section meant anything special.

_Wait._

Euphemia read over the information for Mariella's chosen breeder once more. Why _was_ there a blank section in his pedigree code? More importantly, his identification number did not add up to a multiple of three. Identification numbers _always_ added up to a multiple of three. If they didn't, it was proof the papers were--

_A forgery!_

Suddenly, Euphemia's interest in Ari shifted from mild lust to wild curiosity. Why would his mother forge his papers? Why would _anyone_ forge papers, if not to conceal some kind of secret? If so, why be honest about his medical condition, if she were going to lie about his pedigree so brazenly, and to a lawwoman specialized in this _exact_ type of forgery?

She grinned. A _legal mystery_ to solve. Her _favorite._

Perhaps this man _would_ be worth her time after all.


	3. To Prove One's Virtues

The ten virtues had been a part of Ari's life since the day his mother gave him life.

As a babe, his mother had sung lullaby prayers as she nursed him, hoping they would guide him on his long, predetermined path. The kept men who helped him take his first steps praised him for every small presentation of the virtues he accidentally achieved, urging him to take those traits within him and better himself. For the good of society, his mother crooned. For the good of your livelihood, the men whispered.

When he entered his tutelage, the virtues guided each and every lesson, whether it be one of the many masculine arts, the physical training each man was expected to endure and overcome, and the development of unique skills he could use to best serve his betters when he came of age.

When that day came, and he returned to his mother's care, she'd repeated those lessons to him over and over again, though thankfully, she did so without the caning, spanking, or other painful punishments his tutors had inflicted upon him. Some would say that made him soft, but his mother would say that his relatively unmarked body made him even more of a treat to behold.

_Beauty is one of the virtues, after all,_ Ari mused, giving his unkempt hair a good brushing. By the clock he'd found in one of the many boxes in his new quarters, it was nearly time for Euphemia -- his mistress, gods be good -- to return home for the evening. How _lucky_ he'd been to be taken in by a well-educated, high-ranking officer of the state, especially given his low breeding grade. The woman must have a wide open heart -- or she saw something in him that she simply couldn't refuse.

That confidence of his had gotten him trouble back in his tutelage, though his mother argued that _cockiness_ was just an insulting way to describe _boldness_. Boldness was another one of the virtues, and one he exhibited quite well, if he were allowed to say so himself. Perhaps he could find a new, fashionable way to pin up his hair, he thought, to better display said boldness.

His nape-length, dirty blonde hair was somewhat of a rarity; a recessive trait that some women found attractive. For that reason, he'd always imagined his future mistresses to be blonde, but Euphemia had disappointed him on that front with her jet-black hair, coiled up in that neat bun. Any son or daughter she bore would carry that black hair with them, as would _their_ sons or daughters. It was a simple matter of pedigree.

_That doesn't matter, though, because my sleeping fits would carry on to a blonde offspring, too._ He thought, inserting the twelfth pin in his hair just above his ear. He was lucky just to be given the chance to breed with a woman, let alone one of Mistress Euphemia's stature. Hopefully he'd be able to prove himself worthy before he was too old to attempt to plant his seed in another mistress.

Ari leaned in to the mirror and quickly dusted his cheeks with setting powder, making sure to dab a bit extra in the crease between his nose and cheek, as well as at his temples. _Diligence,_ a goddess' virtue, but one men were expected to exhibit none the less. After all, their planted seed could bear fruit to one or more daughters. Humming quietly to himself, he _diligently_ painted a thin black line atop each of his eyelids, accentuating his already big eyes. He blinked a few times, then set the makeup back into its box and tucked it away.

Perhaps a small prayer was in order before the Mistress returned. It was never a bad idea, and piety _was_ one of the virtues. With all this thinking about them, maybe it was best to recite the prayer of the ten virtues. Even _further_ inspiration to help him succeed in his gods-given task.

The kept man sank to his knees and folded his hands atop his skirts, then closed his eyes and began to think deeply upon the tenets of the Mother.

First, the virtues of the daughters.

_Pheris, daughter of strength. Grant me the power to accomplish all my body is able._

_Regis, daughter of diligence. Grant me the strength of mind to persevere._

_Lana, daughter of wisdom. Grant me the intelligence to keep from erring._

_Mara, daughter of creation. Grant me the spark to innovate and succeed._

_Telene, daughter of integrity. Grant me the courage to always speak true._

He let his thoughts dwell on them a moment longer, before proceeding with the sons. Though lesser, their virtues were as important as the daughters before them.

_Asim, son of beauty. Grant me the countenance to charm She who beholds me._

_Erik, son of initiative. Grant me the energy to always act before She asks._

_Urlich, son of boldness. Grant me the zeal to contend for Her approval._

_Omer, son of fastidiousness. Grant me the eye for detail that She so desires._

_Iliq, son of obedience. Grant me the heart to follow and obey Her whim._

A clattering from afar signaled the mistress' return home, and just in time. Ari quickly finished up his prayer -- _O Mother, watch over me and my spirit --_ and leapt to his feet. He exited his room on padded feet, closing the door with barely a click, then rushed down the long hall to greet her.

By the time he made it to the modest foyer, the lawwoman had already kicked off her boots and hung up her coat. She regarded him with a tired eye as he scampered to a stop at the edge of the raised floor and dropped onto his shins, sinking into a low bow.

"Welcome home, Mistress Euphemia." He chimed happily, jerking upwards into a formal sitting position with a wide grin across his face. _Boldness and beauty._ The two virtues at which he excelled most. "While you were out, I took the liberty of cleaning not only my room, which you've graciously provided me with, but also the hallway, the kitchen, and the mistress' bath."

The tall woman listened idly as she tugged off her high-necked sweater, then tossed it to the ground. _A challenge,_ he thought.

"Would you like me to wash that for you, Mistress?"

"Yes." She huffed, reaching for her bun and pulling the hair free. "By hand. The rollers will stretch it."

"My thanks for the reminder, but rest assured, I'm a skilled laundryman," he chuckled, rising to a half-crouched position and shifting forward to retrieve the garment. It was still warm, and smelled faintly of the oils she must have used in her hair. To mention it, or not? Perhaps not. Too _much_ boldness was no virtue at all.

Euphemia walked past him with barely a word. Not even a _single_ flirtatious compliment. Perhaps he hadn't tried hard enough -- no, she must have had a tough day at work. Would it be too bold to ask?

"Did you have a pleasant day?" He decided it _wasn't_ and continued talking as he followed her down the hall. "I'm sure you must be hungry, so I've begun preparing this evening's meal."

"I see." She didn't even look back at him as she stepped into the kitchen.

_Diligence,_ he thought. "Perhaps while we enjoy it, you can tell me about all of the foods you fancy. I would like nothing more than to have your favorite dishes ready for you before--"

"Ari."

The mistress turned, expression still as stony as before, but this time, there was an urgency to her voice. _Anger,_ even. Ari bit his tongue and stopped in place, straightening his back.

"I believe I mentioned this morning that you would _speak when spoken to_."

Oh. Right. She _had_ mentioned that. Obedience was a virtue, but how could he exhibit his other virtues when she had forbade him to speak? He'd assumed it was some kind of test, but perhaps he'd been mistaken.

"My--" He swallowed dryly. "My apologies, Mistress. I thought only to--"

She raised an eyebrow. One look was all it took to drive the words from his tongue.

"Better." The mistress turned back to her previous focus: the pot on the stove, simmering a hearty beef stew. "At least you seem to be a competent cook. Retrieve me from my study when it's ready to eat. You may busy yourself with cleaning the kitchen while you wait."

With that, she turned on her bare heel, then passed right by him and exited the room.

_Well, that was a complete and total failure,_ he thought, gritting his teeth. He'd been a fool to think it'd be that easy, D-Grade as he was. No, no, that wouldn't do -- he had to be _bold,_ be _diligent,_ prove himself to his mistress, show that he was more than the squiggles on that sheet of paper made him out to be. He _would_ prove himself worthy of her fertile soil, of that he was sure.

And so, he went back to work.

* * *

Later that evening, Ari found himself alone in his quarters, stewing silently as a storm of emotion consumed him. Sometimes, he wished he'd been born a woman, if only to grant him a reprieve from the gods-given whirlwind of dreadful _feelings_ the gods saw fit to bless him with.

He wasn't sure if he was angry, disappointed, or downright confused. Perhaps a combination of all three. He'd done exactly as she said, retrieved her with nary a word, lead her to the kitchen, then followed her order to _retreat to his quarters until the morrow_ without even complaining. From his room, he heard her scrape her bowl clean, then place it in the sink, even _rinsing_ it -- such kindness! -- before padding upstairs towards her chambers.

There was something _else_ upstairs too, that he knew -- the room that Euphemia had specifically forbidden to him. Ari was obedient, so he wouldn't dare enter without her permission, but he was also intelligent. That's how he knew that the room belonged to her _other_ kept man, Kihel. He'd been too afraid-- no, _obedient_ , to try to speak to him through the door, or even see into his quarters, but still, he had to admit to himself that he was curious. Curiosity was a marriage of wisdom and boldness, though it was only a virtue when women were involved. A curious man was a dead man, his tutors had explained, and they had plenty of anecdotes to prove it.

Still, though. _Still._ He wondered.

Why was Kihel confined to his room?

Was he being punished?

A few of his fellow men-in-tutelage had experienced such punishments when they were disobedient or overly emotional, and "were needing a few hours of quiet reflection in solitude". Perhaps that was what was happening to Kihel. It was difficult to accept, though, especially seeing how kind the Mistress had been to him thus far. True, she hadn't come to _milk_ him just yet, but he hadn't done anything worth rewarding yet-- and she hadn't punished him for his earlier missteps. Other women were far quicker to berate and beat their kept men for disobedience, but she hadn't.

Why, then, was poor Kihel confined to his room?

He could hear footsteps on the floorboards above him, wood creaking softly in the night. Mistress Euphemia was preparing for bed, without his help. He ignored the pang of annoyance that crept into his still-steeping whirl of emotion. The footsteps paced back and forth for a moment, before stepping out into the hall -- the sound of the door opening and closing confirmed it -- and a few paces down, towards the door to the other man's room.

When he heard it open and close, his curiosity burst free of the whirling typhoon of his mind and commanded him to stand.

_She's gone to milk him!_

He took one step towards the door, then froze. What was he _thinking?_ Going to eavesdrop, when the Mistress had specifically told him to stay in his quarters?

The footsteps up above padded towards the center of the room, then suddenly stopped. Ari closed his eyes and strained to hear. Though he could make out the buzzing of a woman's voice and the quiet hum of a man's, he couldn't quite pick out any words.

_She wouldn't know,_ he thought. A _dangerous_ thought. _I could sneak upstairs, listen, then be back in my room before she heard anything._

He'd gotten trouble for these kind of things before when he was in tutelage. The canings had kept him from getting into _too_ much trouble, but living under his mother's far gentler hand had taught him that sometimes, a woman would forgive and forget. Curiosity _was_ a facet of boldness, after all. And he _did_ want to know if Kihel was being punished, to better avoid it himself. All in all, he was learning to be even _more_ obedient.

Those were all the reasons he needed. So, pushing aside any thoughts of worry or regret, the young man slowly opened the door to his quarters and slipped out into the hall.

Ari tried his best to be quiet, though there really was no point. If the Mistress truly _were_ milking the other kept man, she was likely too distracted to pay attention to any creaking floorboards or quiet footsteps. It was nice living in a home where there weren't a half-dozen men ready to rat you out if given the slightest chance for a juicy reward. It meant he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted -- granted that the Mistress wasn't listening.

As he crept up the stairs, he wondered if this Kihel would be one of _those_ types. The kind of man who pretended to be a brother, but turned on them the moment it was advantageous. True, all men were each other's rivals, but there was a sense of camaraderie amongst most of them. Stay strong, _together._ Live boldly, _together._ Learn how to sneak around behind the Mistress' back, _together._ Perhaps Kihel would be a good ally. At the very least, he needed to befriend the man for now; gods knew the Mistress wasn't about to go telling him about herself on her own volition. And how was he supposed to serve her properly without knowing anything about her?

The more he thought, the more reasons he found to be sneaking down the hallway towards the forbidden door. There was light flickering underneath it. A candle, not an electric lamp. Was he forbidden to have such fancy new technology, or was it simply not something the architects thought of when considering housing for a woman's kept men?

He had to know. He simply _had to know._

Ari held his breath as he leaned in close to the seam of the door, ear nearly pressed to the wooden frame. Blessedly, the voices inside rang true and clear, and he was _finally_ able to hear what the Mistress was keeping secret from--

_"Ah--- ah!"_

A breathy moan. A _man's_ moan.

Ari clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle his gasp. Those weren't the moans of a main in pain. She _was_ milking him!

Immediately, his loins stirred with desire. It had been _months_ since he'd been properly rewarded. Properly _milked._ His mother refused to do it-- as was expected, she was his _mother,_ not a _Mistress,_ so his pleasure had been left to the whims of the few female companions she entertained now and then. In this moment, though, hearing those gasped-out whines of pleasure from the crack in the door, he nearly prayed to the Heavenly Mother Above that he could bring himself to his peak on his own.

He grit his teeth and endured the rising heat, yet nothing could have prepared him for what he heard next.

_"Does that feel good, Kihel?"_

Euphemia's voice was soft. Gentle. _Crooning_ to him like a mother to her child. He strained to hear, head pressed flush against the door. Something in the mysterious beyond was _squelching_ with a slow, gentle rhythm.

Ari squeezed his thighs together beneath his skirts. He could nearly feel the warmth of his skin radiating through the metal of his cock cage. What a _blessed_ sensation it was, too. He bit down on his lip and continued to listen.

_"Don't hold back. Let me hear."_

_Squelch._

_"Ah-- ah, ah, Eu-- Euphemia, you-- spoil me!"_

Using her first name, without the honorific? No yelp of pain came after, either. What _was_ this Kihel?

_"You deserve it, sweet Kihel." Squelch. "Let me hear that pretty voice of yours."_

_"You-- Euphemia, ah, ah--!"_

_"Good boy, Kihel."_

Ari swallowed, breath hitching in his throat. One trembling hand smoothed over the front of his skirt, over the stiff bulge between his legs.

_Squelch. Squelch._

_"Good-- good, Kihel-- ah!"_

He froze. Was-- was that _Mistress Euphemia?_

_"Ah, hah, hah-- please, Euphie, please--"_

_"Not yet, not-- not yet, my sweet, precious Kihel--"_ Her sweet breaths were interrupted by a sharp cry and the slapping of flesh upon flesh. _"Like that, my sweet, like that-- you've nearly done it."_

The kept man had fallen silent, but from the quick, piercing _slap-slap-slap_ that rang out in the air, Ari knew _exactly_ what was happening.

_She's... she's breeding with him!_

His hand slipped under the hem of his skirt, thumb jabbing into the crevice between metal and flesh. Though he couldn't touch himself, he could press his nail into the base of his bound cock, and _that_ was enough stimulation to help ease the pain each throb of his heart was sending through his manflesh.

_"Kihel..."_ Euphemia gasped, breath strained. _"Kihel-- Kihel!"_

Another sharp cry, this one louder than the last, and the slapping of skin came to an abrupt halt. Her voice hung on the air for a long, drawn-out moment, before quiet enveloped the hall once more.

Ari had just moved his hand away from his pathetic arousal when a louder, even _more_ pathetic sound pierced the silence.

_"Euphie-- oh, gods, Eu--"_

The man's voice sputtered into gasps and groans, ebbing away as Mistress Euphemia began to croon once more.

_"That's it, Kihel. Squeeze out every drop. Good boy."_

So she _hadn't_ taken his seed? Was this just a drawn-out reward for... something he'd done? It made no sense. Despite the confusion, and his failed attempts to pick apart the logic of the Mistress' sordid acts -- and this Kihel's bold manner of speaking with her -- his body was still on fire from the things he'd had the absolute _pleasure_ of hearing.

_Perhaps the Gods will reward me in my sleep,_ he thought, thumb still idly stroking across the bump in his skirts. _For being so bold and inquisitive._

Alas, the Gods would not be so kind. Moments after a cocksure grin spread across his features, the door to Kihel's room swung open mere inches from his head.

Frozen in place, the disobedient kept man turned sideways to meet the Mistress' gaze.

_Oh._ He thought, terror thrumming in his chest. _She's the same height as I am. That's nice._

Then, she grabbed a fistful of his hair, and all of his self-sure _boldness_ shattered like glass.


	4. Obedience

Euphemia gave her hand a jerk and began to walk.

The sharp pain snapped Ari out of his moment of shock, and soon, he was reaching for her wrist and gasping out apologies. "I-I'm sorry, Mistress, I didn't mean to-- I'm sorry!"

She didn't answer. Gods, how was she so _fast?_ Already they were at the stairs, and she showed no signs of slowing down. His legs scrambled for purchase as she gave his hair another yank, this time even further downwards as she trotted down the steps. His ankle twisted painfully as it slid from one step to the one below, forcing out a yelp and a cry of _"Mistress!"_

Again, no answer, not even as she reached the bottom and tugged at his locks once more. Somehow, her arm kept moving downwards, forcing him into a half-bow as he stumbled along after. Gods, she was _strong_ too, stronger than any of his tutors had been. He hadn't expected that, what with how lean she seemed, though really, he hadn't seen her bare arms yet.

He should have known better. He should have _known_ he was being far too bold. Curiosity killed the cat and the kept man, they said. The thought of imminent punishment made his stomach churn, and his mind leapt to soothe his anguish. _You've been punished so many times before,_ it crooned. _Your mother didn't even punish you that harshly, and the tutors were always kind with you after. I'm sure Mistress Euphemia will beat you very gently, and when you apologize to her, she'll forgive you easily. After all, you heard how gentle she was with Kihel, yes?_

Those thoughts did help to calm his nerves, albeit briefly. They led him to expect a spanking, or at worst, a caning, in the comfort of his room. When they passed the still-open door to his quarters, however, all hopes for a _gentle_ punishment were ground to dust.

Euphemia led the whimpering kept man to the end of the hall, then threw open the last door on the left and gave Ari a shove inside. He gasped as his side collided with something tall and hard, his hands splaying across the dusty, flat surface as his eyes adjusted to the dark. Moments later, the mistress flicked on the electric light, illuminating the yet-unexplored room.

In the center of the small room was the object Ari had collided with upon entering -- a tall table that as as long as most men were tall, with the surface atop it aligned to the height of an average woman. At its corners, a series of leather straps, bolted into the wood of its legs and fitted with polished iron buckles. A proper _milking table._

The walls were adorned with shelves and hooks of varying sizes, each holding a particular instruments. On one shelf, makeshift cocks of varying sizes, curved and shaped to apply force and pressure to a man's keeper's organ. On another set of hooks, a set of ropes of varying thicknesses and materials, as well as iron-wrought cuffs, bars, and chains. Lying in a corner shelf, a grouping of canes and switches of varying flexibility, each one larger and more frightening than the last.

Ari drew his hands in towards his chest and recoiled against the table, eyes widening with fear. Mistress Euphemia had herself a proper _instruction room._ He should have known. He should have--

"Ari."

Her voice cut through the silence as surely as a knife through flesh. Before he realized it, his instincts took over, and his body folded to the ground in a neat, formal bow, forehead pressed firmly to the cold concrete, heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

"Please, Mistress Euphemia, forgive me," He gasped, speaking so quickly, he feared he might bite his tongue. "I acted only with the hopes of pleasing you, and I swear to obey your orders when--"

The blow, like her grip, caught him by surprise. He barely realized what she'd done until his body collided with the leg of the mating table. Only then did he feel the pain blooming at his cheek, and glimpse the foot returning to rest on the ground. 

"Strip." She barked. She didn't even bother waiting to see if he'd comply, turning away to reach for one of the many training implements on the wall.

Ari didn't hesitate. Despite the throbbing at his cheek and his continued state of shock, he leaped to his feet and began undressing, unbuttoning his cotton shirt and tugging it from his limber frame, then unhooking his skirts and kicking them aside. His smallclothes were the last to go, one quick button, then a tug, and the tight-fitting garment was tossed onto the pile of fabric near his feet. Naked, cold, and shivering with anxiety, the kept man clasped his hands at his chest and _hoped_ that his Mistress would take some form of interest in his bare form, if only to help lessen the punishment he was about to receive.

Euphemia turned back to him just in time. A quick motion and a _snap_ of wood against palm revealed what she'd gone to get -- a thin switch. 

"Get on the table." Her expression betrayed no emotion. For all the color in her voice, she might as well have been asking him to wash the dishes.

He paused, then tried to beg once more. "Mistr--"

The Mistress brought the switch down with a _whizz,_ then a _crack_ as it struck his bare thigh.

Again, he moved without thinking, barely registering the high-pitched yelp that escaped his throat as his arms and legs pulled him atop the mating table with astonishing speed. He fell to his elbows and knees, hands still clasped together at his head, his nose pressed to the dusty, grimy wood. The muscles at his rear and thighs tensed, preparing for the next strike, but it didn't come.

Instead, the Mistress grabbed his left ankle and yanked it towards the corner of the table. The kept man yelped once more in surprise, but stayed still, allowing his keeper to strap the offending ankle into a waiting restraint. Seconds later, his right ankle suffered the same fate.

Fear bubbled up in his stomach. He hadn't been _restrained_ for a punishment in a _long_ time. The only time any of the students had been locked _into_ a restraint was when they were to suffer a punishment they would not be able to bear otherwise, and--

_Oh Mother, what I fool I've been!_

The Mistress strode forward to his front, grabbing for one wrist and pulling it into a leather strap of its own. Ari dared to look up from his prostrated position, trying to meet her eyes with a pleading look and a barely-murmured "Please--!" She didn't answer. Her hand reached for his other wrist, sliding it across the dust and locking it in as well.

She disappeared from view again, filling his mind with dread once more. She was going to make him _bleed_ for this. _Mark_ him, even. He heard that some Mistresses punished their slaves by piercing their skin, or burning them, or branding them with marks for every grave offense. There were more than a few low-grade breeders that had succumbed to wounds inflicted by an overzealous punishment -- and those punishments had been carried out for the sin of _disobedience._

He should have stopped to think. He shouldn't have disobeyed. He--

A freezing cold sensation at his belly squeezed out another yelp. His hips jerked upwards out of instinct. When they went to fall, he found them held up by the selfsame coldness as before. An iron bar, seemingly suspended from above. A brief _clink-clink_ of spring-loaded elements and the _clack-clack_ of metal locking into place, and the bar hoisted his sagging rear up high.

Ari heard the Mistress _sigh,_ then take a few steps back from his quivering body. With his lower half raised, his arms and legs had no choice but to extend outwards at well, if only to keep the bar from digging into his skin. He strained to hear what she was doing, _gods_ , what he would give to _see_ what she was doing -- especially as he could hear absolutely nothing. His gaze flicked across the various instruments on shelves within his sight: a curved milking device thick as a woman's fist; a metal ring on a loop of leather, designed to keep a man's mouth open and wet as he worked at his mistress' cunt; leather boots designed to keep a man on his knees for hours at a time. 

It was becoming very clear, and far too late to help, that Mistress Euphemia was _not_ to be trifled with.

A hand at his rear broke him out of his trance. A _gloved_ hand at that -- when had she put them on? Her next motion tore a gasp from his lips, as her thumb and forefinger pressed against his entrance and spread the sensitive skin there taut between them.

"Please." He cried, though his voice was barely above a whisper. His cock _throbbed_ in its cage, longing for reward, desperate for those fingers to press past his entrance and thrust upwards towards his center of pleasure. Ari knew, however, that no reward would come.

"Ari," Euphemia began, ignoring his quiet plea, "when was the last time you were punished?"

The kept man felt a chill run down his exposed back. Fear and desperation choked the words from him. "I, I--"

Through the leather of her gloves, he felt her fingernail press against the soft, sensitive ring of skin around his keeper's hole, drawing out a quiet, needy moan. Euphemia was unfazed. "How many _months_ ago, Ari?"

"M-many, Mistress-- please, I, I won't disobey you again, I swear!"

"And when was the last time you were milked?"

Though he willed himself to stay calm, the excitement that bubbled up within him overtook him, muscles straining against his bonds, hips angling his rear ever upwards, _begging_ without words for her to give him what he wanted. "Eight--" He gasped, steeling himself for the blow. "Eight weeks ago, Mistress."

"I see." She stayed where she was at his hole, finger idly tracing the dark-pink ring, as if in deep thought. Then, she took a single step back and withdrew her touch.

_Perhaps she thinks I'll be more obedient if I'm milked,_ he thought. _It's true. I'm so much more obedient when I'm milked. Please, let her understand that. I'll do whatever she says, from here on out, as long as she milks me good and deep. Please, let--_

The tell-tale _whizz_ of an object rushing to meet his skin gave him a precious second to brace himself before the _crack_ of said implement rang out. The shock came first, a _thud_ of air forced from his lungs, and a _tightening_ around his throat as his body struggled to breathe in. Warmth at his eyes as tears formed without thought, and quivering of muscles as pain began to flood his lower extremities. 

She'd hit him.

_Whizz-crack._

The second impact came so quickly after the first that it took him by surprise, turning his gasp into a sharp cry. The object -- a paddle, it _must_ have been, a cane didn't make that kind of _thud,_ and it felt like his entire _leg_ was on fire -- pulled slightly against his skin as the Mistress prepared for her next strike, and it was only then that he realized that the surface was _intentionally rough,_ made _specifically_ to inflict the most pain upon the target of its wielder's choosing.

_Whizz-crack._

She was aiming lower now; where her first blows had struck him across the buttocks, now, she aimed for the sensitive flesh directly below the curve, his upper thighs. Had the rod not been holding him upwards, he would have collapsed; his thighs and calves were trembling with shock.

_Whizz-crack._

Nobody had hit him this hard in a _long_ time. Not since his tutelage, since--

_Whizz-crack._

 _\--_ since he'd snuck out of his room with a few of the other boys to steal cookies from the larder.

_Whizz-crack._

Ari let out a sob. His eyes squeezed shut, and the tears poured over his cheeks.

_Whizz-crack._

He was sweating now, which only sharpened the bite of the cool air in the room. As it trickled down his leg, the salt stung at his red, raw skin.

_Whizz-crack._

Funny. He could barely feel the pain at his rear now. More than anything, he felt the sharp impact of the blows. She wasn't holding back -- that, or she was far stronger than he'd initially thought.

_Whizz-crack._

She was showing him his place. Naked, bent over, and bending to her whim.

_Whizz-crack._

This was what he deserved. Why hadn't he thought this through?

_Whizz-crack._

When would she stop? Why would she stop? Gods, _please_ , make it stop--

A loud clattering of wood against the stone floor, and finally, _finally_ , he was given a reprieve-- from both the pain _and_ the silence.

"I see your mother taught you to value your virtues," she began, voice as emotionless as it was when she'd began. Not even a _hint_ of anger. "As such, it falls upon me to properly instill them in you."

Ari was too busy swallowing his mucus and spit to answer, which was likely the correct response.

"In this house, _obedience_ is the male virtue that holds the most importance."

A shifting of clothing, then a quiet _clack-clack_ as a hand retrieved a _something_ from the wall behind her. His muscles tensed, already anticipating the next part of his punishment.

Then, something warm and wet and _viscous_ at his keeper's hole. The sudden sensation made him gasp with terror, then exhale with barely-concealed relief as he realized what it was. _Lubrication. Keeper's fluid._

His cock sprang to life, throbbing as it curved against the metal confines of his chastity cage. Despite his tears and exhaustion, he found the energy to beg. "Please, Mistress, I'll-- I'll obey, I swear by the Mother and all the Gods, I'll-- I'll follow the teachings of Iliq and-- and obey you!"

_Whizz-crack._

Something thin and razor-sharp crossed his raw backside with force he wasn't expecting. His shriek rose to a strangled, choked breath, though the next stroke -- _whizz-crack --_ drew the rest of it out of him.

"In this house, actions speak louder than words. When you are spoken to, you will reply with _yes, Mistress._ Is that clear?"

Ari nodded and squeezed the wetness from his eyes. Teeth grit, and toes curling, he gasped out a strained _"Yes, Mistress!"_

"Good."

_Whizz-crack._

 _Why?!_ He wanted to cry, but the words didn't come. A wracked _sob_ did, then another as the next _whizz-crack_ tore through his lower thigh. 

"You will obey, Ari."

He couldn't respond. It hurt, it hurt _so_ badly, nobody had _ever_ hurt him like--

_Whizz-crack._

"Ari."

His body shuddered in its bonds, unable to escape or endure the punishment inflicted upon him. In desperation, he took a breath and tried his best to respond. "Y-yes..." Another shudder cut the breath from his sentence.

_Whizz-crack._

It didn't matter. She didn't _care_ how pained or exhausted he was. She wouldn't stop until he answered.

_Whizz-crack._

"You _will_ obey, Ari. Respond properly."

How did she sound so calm? What kind of _monster_ had his mother signed his life away to? Would he _ever_ be able to please someone who would--

_Whizz-crack._

"Ari."

His thighs burned. His keeper's hole quivered and tensed at the wetness between his cheeks. A trickle of sweat -- or blood -- was pooling in the crease of his knees.

And the thought had all but been purged from his mind.

"Yes--" He gasped, exhaustion wracking his frame. "Yes, Mistress."

_Whizz-crack._

"Ari."

This time, they came without hesitation, rasped out with a forced breath. "Yes, Mistress."

The next blow didn't come, but neither did his relief. He _knew_ this wasn't over. There was more to come after this. She would have her way with him for as long as she wanted. This was his fate.

Then, without warning, something _hard_ and _bulbous_ at his rear. A steady, but firm force worked the thick head of the tool at his entrance, stretching and _stretching and stretching_ his keeper's hole wider and wider, until eventually, _finally--_

_"Agh-- ah!"_

Despite his exhaustion, or perhaps _because_ of his exhaustion, Ari let out a quiet, pathetic moan, thighs quaking with pleasure as the outermost ring of muscle snapped shut around the bulb of the makeshift cock. It truly _had_ been too long; already, he could feel the pin-prickles of pain around the thick device as his hole tried its best to accommodate it. Not that he would complain. In fact, he'd more than welcome _this_ pain if it meant a reprieve from the torture happening at his cheeks and thighs. 

"You will obey, Ari."

"Yes, Mistress, _please,_ " he gasped. "I'll obey, I'll--"

One quick _jerk,_ and the bulb popped free of his keeper's hole. Ari yelped, shuddered, then began to sob.

"Ari."

The kept man took a few quick breaths, then tried gain.

"Yes-- yes, Mistress."

_Whizz--_

 _"_ Yes, Mistress!"

_Crack._

His gasps turned to sobs.

_Whizz-crack._

"Yes, Mistress!"

_Whizz-crack._

"Yes, Mistress!"

A pause. A reprieve.

"Are you ready to obey, Ari?'

A choked-out sob.

"Yes, Mistress."

This time, when she plunged the milking tool into his waiting hole, he bit down on his tongue and _groaned_.

"Ari."

Was it his imagination, or was her voice _softening?_

"You will obey."

Another sob. "Yes, Mistress."

She pressed it deeper, and he tasted blood on the back of his throat.

"Would you like to be _milked,_ Ari?"

It took every ounce of mental fortitude to keep his mouth from running away once more.

"Yes, Mistress."

The bulb sank deeper within him. So close. So _close._

"When you are given an order, you will obey it. Is that clear?"

His teeth cut into his tongue. Two words, that was all he needed to say. "Yes, Mistress."

"Good boy."

Euphemia gave the cock a hard _shove_ , and the hard tip of the curved toy _thrust_ against the _right spot, and oh-- Gods--!_

Ari kept his teeth on his tongue as he moaned, no, _sobbed,_ tears spilling over his cheeks and trickling into his half-open mouth. She was going to milk him. After all that, she was going to milk him, and all because he had obeyed, because he'd--

A hand at his rear, then, suddenly, the device was withdrawing from his innards, slowly, gently, _teasing_ him, _punishing_ him for his hubris, for _disobeying, for--_

"Think about how you can better obey me for the next hour."

With that, the Mistress tossed the toy to the floor and stepped away from his bloodied backside. One _click_ of the switch later, and the room dimmed around him, enveloping him in darkness as the door slammed behind the exiting Mistress. The footsteps receded quickly, and soon, all he could hear was the sound of his exhausted sobs and the clinking of the metal above him.

* * *

Ari awoke to a sudden sharp pain at his thighs. He flinched and instinctively tried to curl into a ball, but a hand at his middle kept him from moving. 

"Shh." A voice. A _man's_ voice. "Stay still."

His head was swimming with exhaustion and pain, but thoughts soon began to bubble up through the haze. There was fabric beneath him, and his arms and legs were free. He'd been moved to his cot.

A twinge at his thighs reminded him of his punishment, and the pain that had woken him up. Another twinge alerted him to the presence of _someone else's hands on him._

"You--"

"Shh." Ari had barely found his voice before the mysterious man was quieting him again. "Go back to sleep, alright?"

A man's voice. A _kind_ voice. He was taking _care_ of him, like a good man should.

His eyes fluttered shut, and the tension began to ease from his muscles.

"Good boy," the voice murmured. "Sleep, now."

Ari was too exhausted to resist.

* * *

The next time he awoke, it was to the same pain, yet somehow, the false heat burned _hotter._

He groaned softly and reached for his thighs. The cool skin of his palms was soothing, in a way. He felt each heartbeat pulse beneath his fingertips. Gods, it was going to be _hell_ getting up.

His eyes fluttered open. Daylight was shining under the crack of the door. What time was it? He hadn't heard the bells. Was he just that exhausted from his punishment the night before?

If it really _were_ daytime, he needed to get on his chores, and quickly, too. He couldn't well check the clock without getting up, though, so with a suppressed cry, he grabbed at the wooden rung of the cot and propped himself up into a half-sitting position, ignoring the protests from his backside.

_I'd best do an extra good job if I want to avoid this repeating itself tonight,_ he thought, reaching for the shirt hanging off one of the Mistress' many boxes and tugging it over his head. His skirt came next; thank the Mother men weren't required to wear the tight-fitting trousers women preferred to wear. Plus, the long skirt meant he could go without his smallclothes today. Perhaps he'd see if she had some salve in the kitchen to help his skin heal while he worked.

_Salve._ Ari had nearly forgotten the kindness someone had shown him in the night. At first, he thought he'd only dreamed it, but his skin was _far_ too well-moisturized for the dampness in his cot to be sweat alone. It hadn't been the Mistress, either. That left one possible culprit.

_I suppose that means he wants to be friends,_ he wondered. That was almost more of a relief than the salve. Ari wouldn't have to constantly be on his guard around the other kept man, nor compete for his attention in less-than-flattering ways. Perhaps they could even form some sort of alliance to protect one another, if the Mistress was going to punish him with _this_ much force.

A smell caught his attention as he slipped into his shoes. Meat, spices, possibly potatoes -- someone was cooking something, and Ari could already solve one or both of those mysteries.

With caution, but some excitement, the kept man crept out of his room and into the hall. Gods, whatever it was, it smelled _good._ Swallowing the spit pooling under his tongue, Ari stepped into the open frame of the kitchen and finally glimpsed the Mistress' other man for the first time.

He wore a long-sleeved button-up made of white cotton that was tucked into a long blue skirt -- circle skirt, if Ari was remembering his seamsman training correctly. A section of cloth was tied around his waist with a neat bow -- an apron, and handmade at that. His long, semi-curly hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail that bobbed with every minute motion of his neck.

As if sensing the other man's presence, he turned to look over his shoulder, revealing his face-- soft, clean-shaven features, a pointed nose, long lashes, and emerald-green eyes: all attributes that would add to his value as a breeder. 

The kept man smiled and nodded. "I had a hunch the smell of stew would wake you." He waved a soup-coated spoon and continued. "There's a bowl waiting for you at the table. Figured you'd want to stand and not sit."

Ari followed the other man's gesture and glanced towards the table. _Gods,_ he was hungry, but first things first. "You're-- you're, uh, Kihel?"

His smile softened into a sheepish grimace, and he nodded once more.

"It's good to finally meet you, Ari."


	5. Euphemia's First

Ari slurped at his soup. It was good. Damn good, he had to admit, but no matter _how_ good his soup was, he couldn't shake his suspicion of Kihel.

The man in question was humming a little song over the pot as he ladled a generous serving into a bowl for himself. Even his _voice_ was perfect, too, the perfect octave, the perfect warmth, _ugh._ _Why did the Mistress even take me in, then?_

It was a valid question. Women, blessed as they were with the gift of life, could only create one (or, if lucky, two) at a time, and one a year if they were feeling ambitious. While society urged women to take a variety of breeders to diversify the gene pool, no one was stopping anyone from breeding multiple times with the same high-grade man, _especially_ if they were the only one in the nearby vicinity. There was really no reason for the Mistress to even _consider_ taking his seed if she was keeping a man this perfect for exactly that reason.

The other man must have noticed his half-dejected, half-scowling expression, for he let out a quiet, perfectly masculine chuckle as he joined him at the table. "Don't worry, it's not poisoned. I'd very much like to get along with you, if you don't mind."

Ari swallowed his soup, but didn't respond. If he was _this_ perfect, then why didn't the Mistress breed with him? Sure, she seemed young, but not so young that she wouldn't be fulfilling her gods-given role soon enough. Despite that, she'd intentionally spilled Kihel's seed outside. Why?

"I, ah..." Kihel fidgeted in his seat. "You don't need to worry. You can talk to me. Euphemia won't punish you for that."

The fact that Kihel was calling her by her _first_ name made him blush for some reason. He'd done that the night before, too. It was so familiar. So _strange._ This whole situation was _strange._

"I'm guessing you... have a lot of questions."

Ari glanced up at the perfect man and obliged him with the slightest nod. When Kihel raised his eyebrows, hoping to prompt him to respond, he was forced to acquiesce.

"I, uh..." He stammered, then sighed. Why was he hesitating? Just _ask._ "I heard you last night."

Kihel's smile softened, though the kindness in his eyes stayed. "Yes, I... heard as much."

Where did he think _that_ was going? Ugh. Useless man. He tried again. "How-- how long have you been serving the Mistress?"

"About four years."

"And how old are you?"

"Twenty-four." Kihel glanced down at his stew, spooning a bit into his mouth with slow, careful motions.

"And the Mistress is..."

"Twenty-two."

So she'd taken him in right after she'd come of ownership age. Made sense, considering he was her only kept man when Ari came into the picture.

"And she hasn't-- hasn't decided to breed with you yet?"

Kihel's smile fell even further, twisting into a half-grimace. "That's a-- _complicated_ question to ask, one you probably know you shouldn't."

Ari returned the expression with a sheepish shrug. "With all due respect, you seem like prime breeding material, and she, ah... seems to be very _fond_ of you. I suppose I'm merely wondering--"

"If you even have a chance?"

The taller man's mouth snapped shut. A moment later, he nodded.

Kihel sighed and ran a hand over the top of his head. "I suppose it's only fair that you know. The Mistress will likely never tell you, anyway." With a second sigh, the kept man leaned forward and rested his chin on his palm.

"The Mistress will never breed with me."

* * *

Euphemia squinted at the page before her and sighed. Seemed every one of the gods was after her patience this past day. First Ari, now, three long contract disputes, one after another. This last one was turning into a real nightmare, so much that even after the complainant had left, she was still flipping through pages, straining her vision against the small text in the still-strange electric lamplight. Sure, she may have specialized in contract law, and male law in particular, but that didn't mean she enjoyed how downright banal the work could be sometimes.

Her head hurt. It always hurt like this when she didn't get enough sleep, or she was _pent up._ The latter wasn't true, so it must have been the former, and the _only_ reason she wouldn't have slept well was because that useless, _selfish, disobedient little--_

She took a deep breath. In, then out. Her head still hurt, but at least she'd unclenched her jaw. Anger, while rightfully feminine, was of no help here. She had to press on. With another sigh, the lawwoman leaned in and tried her best to continue.

_\--in concordance with the Gubernatorial regulation entitled and enshrined in the Halls of Law as, quote, Standards of the Keeping of Men and Their Pertinent Writs, quote, penned in the two hundred and seventeenth year of Our Mother's Mercy..._

What kind of man disobeyed simple orders on his first night in his Mistress's employ? How dare he. Did he _want_ her to punish him like that? Some men were like that. Gods, what she wouldn't _give_ to take the paddle to that milky-white, silky-soft ass of his one more--

Deep breath. In, then out. Focus.

_\--header two, section twelve, biparagraph four: whereupon the terms of transference are agreed, the present keyholder first will apply her seal to the official Gubernatorial template in box ten..._

He'd better not get any funny ideas about eavesdropping on her again, or she'd have to mark that pretty little face of his. He'd probably squeal _so_ nicely for her, too. At least he had that lovely little voice. Perhaps if he proved himself to her, she'd give him that milking he was begging for. Gods, the way his _ass_ wiggled about, it was a miracle the man wasn't trying to pleasure himself with any object he could find that would fit in that--

Euphemia pinched her cheek. Now her head _and_ her cheek hurt, not to mention the warmth between his legs.

_Desperate little slut. Useless waste of a man. I'm going to beat you bloody the next time you cross me. That will only make your eventual reward even sweeter. Or how about I edge you every night until you can barely walk from how swollen your useless cock becomes? You worthless, no-good--_

"Madam?"

Euphemia's head snapped up so quickly that her bun nearly came undone from the force of it. The speed apparently startled her visitor, too, who let out a quiet _"eep!"_ and sprang backwards.

Sam, the mayor's secretary, peeked out from behind the bundle of papers in his hands, revealing that horrific red mop of hair. It was a wonder the mayor hadn't asked him to dye it, what with how unattractive it was. Euphemia didn't quite buy the _red hair, eternity beware_ chant the Church of the Mother liked to repeat, but she _did_ buy that it was the mark of poor genetics. Superstition or not, she'd never heard of the child of a redhead living to see her first birthday.

Not that the rest of him would have bought him breeder status, what with his short, stout stature and lopsided smile. At least his mother hadn't been left penniless when he was castrated; he had a good enough mind to take on a male-oriented job. Sam might not have been the perfect secretary, but he did as he was told, and that was pretty much the only thing the mayor needed him for.

_That, and he doesn't complain when she bends him over her desk every now and then._ Euphemia cringed as Regina's voice drifted through her mind, completely unprompted. The woman was going to ruin her, through and through.

"What is it?"

"Forgive the interruption, madam, but I've brought the documents you requested."

He proffered them to her with a nervous, lopsided smile. She sighed, then accepted them.

"Thank you, Sam." Gods, she could barely make eye contact with him. It wasn't his fault, it was that damned _boy_ and his--

He was still standing there. Irked, Euphemia shot him her best glare and snapped, "What?"

'Is-- is there aught else I can, ah... You see, the mayor's gone home for the evening, and-- perhaps you'd like some tea?"

_Perhaps you'd like to finish one of those three sentences you began, whore._ She quieted the thought and responded politely instead.

"Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you, dear."

The man flushed, then scampered off with a hasty bow. Really, she wasn't sure what to make of him. Some more radical women might've argued that men like him were completely useless, but that simply wasn't the case. Men were worth more than the milk of their cock. Euphemia, of all people, knew that far too well.

They _were_ far too emotional to be left to their own devices, however. A man without guidance would fly off the handle as easily as a box dropped down a flight of stairs. Quick to anger, and even quicker to cry, men could barely be trusted to handle errands by themselves. Gods knew how they would act if they were allowed to have the same freedoms as women -- especially if their cocks were unbound.

She pitied them, really, Sam especially. His poor mother would have known he had poor genetics the moment he was born. Not only that, but she would have discovered that the fine man she'd thought worthy of her womb was either misrepresented or tested poorly upon grading. _That_ was why rigorous testing was so important, why researching and furthering the science of genetics was so important. After all, how were they supposed to advance as a society and better prepare the world for their children if they did not breed that strength of body, mind, and character into the world itself?

Still, Euphemia had to wonder: if that science advanced too far, men may not have much reason to prove themselves worthy. If testing was able to pinpoint the genetics and bloodlines that were most ideal, then what would keep society from increasing their standards for high-grade men, and thus eliminating the breeding rights of hundreds of thousands of men?

That wasn't likely to happen, thankfully. At least, that's what Euphemia believed. There were some things, like devotion to the virtues and strength of character, that genetics testing would never be able to reduce to a number or specific gene. That, and women had the right to pick and choose who would be most worthy of their womb. It wasn't all about numbers, tests, and grades. There _was_ something more, as loathe as many women were to admit it -- including herself.

_Kihel..._

Euphemia shook the momentary thought from her mind and reached for the packet of papers the poor servant had delivered to her. This wasn't the first time she'd examined this particular law in detail, but it was the first time she had done so for her own sake.

_Gubernatorial Standards for the Grading of Men for the Year Three Hundred and Forty of Our Mother's Mercy._

It was a few years out of date -- three, to be exact -- but this edition was from the year that Ari's test had taken place, supposedly. There, at least, she would find out whether the entire test was a fabrication, or only parts.

First things first, of course, was the test certification number and male identification number. Neither were to standard, of course; it was a poor forgery, after all. She set the pedigree sheet aside and began to study the details of Ari's grading.

At the top was a list of his most pertinent demerits, starting with that claim of _Epilepsy -- Fainting_. Euphemia glanced at the alphanumeric legal code -- _H28-3A --_ and began flipping through the pile of parchment to find its matching description and grading demerit. As expected, the code didn't match up at all, pointing instead to _malformation of the kidneys._ Out of curiosity, she looked up the actual demerits for a case of epilepsy and found that even the most _severe_ case would not warrant the number of demerits the forger had assigned to his so-called affliction.

_If the rest of these merits are true, then Ari should have been graded far higher than this would suggest._ So her initial hunch was true.

For all her research, the big question still remained unanswered: why had Ari's mother gone through the trouble of forging his documents to _downgrade_ his breeding potential?

Euphemia had handled plenty of breeding grade forgery cases in her short tenure as lawwoman, but ninety-nine percent of those cases involved mothers attempting to make their sons look better, typically to try and earn more money when signing him away to a mistress, and rarely to increase a high-ranking mother's social status. No high-class lady with good genes wanted others to know she'd begotten a D-grade or even F-grade breeder.

There _was_ that one percent of cases where mothers had their sons graded _lower_ , but the reasons varied. Some women did it to protect their sons from a certain woman interested in him, with the hopes that she would be deterred from asking for his key if he were graded lower than her station would allow. Other cases of forgery were to hide the evidence of illegal breeding activities. It wasn't unheard of for women to try to steal or deceive their way into a top-grade man's chastity cage to take his seed for their own without permission or right. Ari's mother was relatively poor, so that wasn't out of the question.

Then again, there was also the possibility that this "fainting" epilepsy of his was there to cover up something far worse, a condition that could downgrade him well past _F-Grade Servant_ and into culling territory. That worried her -- given her own home situation, she sure wasn't going to be able to _handle_ that sort of event. 

Seems she would have to do a bit more detective work, then, to determine exactly what was going on. She'd hold off on having him re-graded for now. No need to cause herself extra problems if Ari was far more flawed than his mother let on. Perhaps she could talk to a few graders and get some more information on forgery reasons. There was a chance she could seek out the forgers herself, too -- perhaps even pay a visit to Ari's mother, if need be. It was more work to add to her never-ending pile of cases, but...

She had to admit, there was some part of her that was enjoying this.

_Just you wait, my little burden. I'll have you figured out -- and punished for hiding your secrets from me -- sooner than you'd like to imagine._

* * *

Ari blinked in confusion. Eventually, he found his words.

"Wh-- _never?_ How-- how can you be so sure?"

The man across from him regarded him with a weary smile and a raised eyebrow. He sighed, then folded his hands before him.

"I'm not of breeding grade at all. My papers may say I'm just barely there, but the truth is, ah..." He shrugged and put on that same smile. "Let's just say that _most_ women wouldn't suffer me to live."

"Wh-what?" Ari stammered, struggling to comprehend the weight of his senior's words. "B-but why? You look perfectly healthy, and-- and I can't see anything about you that would be heretical, so-- why?"

"A condition called muscular dystrophy. In easier terms, it means my muscles grow weaker with every passing year." He leaned back and closed his eyes. "When I was first graded, my weakness was taken for an inherent flaw. Inability to do manual labor was the demerit that classified me as Grade D. The Mistress took me into her care shortly after. 

"Soon, however, the weakness began to worsen -- I was tired more and more often, and found myself out of breath after the easiest activities -- though I thought nothing of it at the time. It wasn't until I burned myself while cooking one evening that Euphemia took me to the physician against my will. That was when the underlying cause of my weakness was discovered to be muscular dystrophy. Genetic, of course."

The blonde newcomer listened with rapt attention, the shock in his expression slowly morphing to sorrow.

Kihel continued. "The doctor suggested the Mistress have me castrated or culled sooner than later, to keep me from suffering. I don't think I've ever seen her that angry at another woman before." He chuckled. "She had the papers torn up right then and there, saying something about _ripping her open a new cunt_ if she tried to make any of that happen."

Ari bit his lip. "She cared about you that much?"

"Mm-hmm." He nodded. "She cares more for her men than other women do. She even has a bit of respect for us, though I'm sure you might not agree right now. She's a good woman, though. You should remember this."

_A good woman,_ Ari thought. For some reason, that made him feel angry. Angry _and_ guilty. He should have listened to her, should have respected her wishes, but still... No matter how _good_ she might have been, the pain and humiliation she'd put him through the night before was nigh-unforgivable.

"But, of course, just because she won't take my seed, doesn't mean she'll take yours." Kihel chuckled as he brushed a lock of his long, brown hair behind one ear. "She values boldness from time to time, but obedience comes first. She'll appreciate your eagerness one day, but for now, you may want to take it down a few notches."

The blonde bristled at those words. "I won't be punished for being _too_ obedient."

"Oh, you will be at this rate." Kihel laughed, "and you should know by now that the Mistress won't hesitate to punish us for our disobedience."

Ari scowled into his half-empty bowl of stew. His thighs twinged with pain, as if to punctuate Kihel's statement. "Well, she won't _tell_ me anything about what she wants, other than to stay quiet and stay out of her way. How am I supposed to make her like me if she won't even--"

"Shhh." 

He stopped mid-sentence. It wasn't until then that he realized there were tears swelling up in his eyes.

Kihel stretched across the table with one hand to gently pat the hand he could reach. "Here. Why don't I tell you a little bit myself? Not everything right away, of course, since I don't want to get in trouble myself, but it should at least help you understand who she is." He smiled and raised a brow. "She _is_ a good woman, you'll come to see that, I promise. And you seem to be a good man, well-deserving of your B grade. With my help, the mistress will want your seed yet."

Ari faltered, but nodded anyways. Kihel's intentions were pure, it seemed, and he wouldn't _lie_ about his condition. And he _was_ very close to the Mistress, even calling her by her first name. He let out a quick huff, then steeled himself.

"What can you tell me?"


	6. ASIDE: The Brothers of Erik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new Ardent Brother of Erik joins the service at the city's largest Temple to the Mother.

Enni shrank down as the group of female Ardents passed him in the hall. His hand subconsciously reached for the fabric already covering the _bad_ half of his face to make sure it wasn't visible.

"You'll have to take that off when you see the Mother Regent." The Ardent Brother a few steps ahead of him noted, glancing back at his shy, fidgeting charge. "Though she's likely to forbid you from wearing it, anywho, so you may as well get used to it."

His jaw clenched tight against his teeth, but he complied. Fingers rose for the pins that held the dark-green cotton half-veil to his head, removing them two at a time, until it finally fell free. Fear bubbled up in his chest, but he quelled it with mental prayer to Urlich, the bold. He was safe in the Mother's Walls. He was to be an Ardent himself. Any woman or man who lived in service of the Mother and her Children was welcome and beloved, no matter what afflicted them.

Enni hoped the Ardent Brother would consider that truth as he looked upon his true countenance -- and the numerous tumors that overcame the right half of his face. Cruel children had likened him to a half-melted wax doll, or a sandcastle half-destroyed by the rising tide. His brow bulged from the benign deposits beneath his skin, which pushed his right eye further down his cheek, nearly even with the tip of his half-engorged nose. The right half of his mouth drooped downwards as well, curved over a particularly bulbous tumor that obscured the line of his jaw and neck. He blinked with both eyes, then glanced away, hoping the color that came to his left cheek was reflected in what the Mother had made of his right.

"That's better."

The Brother turned before Enni could see his reaction, then continued on down the hall. Enni clutched the discarded piece of cloth in his hands and scampered after him.

Despite how anxious he was to be unveiled before the general public -- and _so many people,_ no less; he'd only heard stories of how populated the cities were, and seeing it in person had been equally shocking and mesmerizing -- he wasn't frightened of the journey at hand, not at all. His mother had known since birth he'd be no breeder, and his sharp mind kept him from being culled young, like most boys who were too damaged to serve society. She raised him to have a brain for numbers and a heart for the Gods, preparing him for a life in service to the Temple when he came of age at sixteen. Enni knew how lucky he was to have a mother like her. Without that preparation, his fate would most likely have lead him to physical labor somewhere far beneath the earth and away from society at large, where a cruel mistress would have worked him until his dying breath.

Not that he was afraid to work himself to death; he was more than willing to do so if it were in service to the Mother and her children. As long as one was able-bodied or able-minded, they were deemed more than necessary to the world at large, no matter _what_ cruel children or adults might say. He would repay Her kindness tenfold, then, and work to strengthen and improve the society her devotees had built.

And so, here he was, in one of the largest temples in the Southern continent, being led by one of dozens of Ardents to meet the Mother Regent, the woman who lead the Mother's hundreds of sworn devotees in life and tens of thousands of city-state citizens in prayer. His heart threatened to leap out of his chest with every step. All the stories he'd heard, all the people he'd spoken to, every moment lead to this one final moment, this one _beginning_ he'd dreamed of his entire life.

It would begin with a restrained cough from the Ardent leading him and a double-knock on a door. "Mother Regent, if you please?"

A muffled voice responded. "Enter!" Kind, but firm.

The two men complied, the slightly-older Ardent opening the door and bowing his head, the newcomer wringing his hands at his waist as the door swung shut behind him.

The room was surprisingly dark; Enni looked upwards and saw the windows were shielded by curtains of a thick, dark fabric. A few candles lit on bookshelves and the desk in the center of the octagonal room lit the walls and ceiling with warm flickers of light. Sitting hunched over the desk was the pious woman in question, her half-greyed hair pulled back into a tight bun, exposing the deep lines in her forehead. She looked up as the men entered, and a glint of light reflected off her glasses. The lenses were nearly as thick as his thumb; it was a miracle she kept them balanced on her tiny nose.

"Ah! Right on time." The Mother Regent chimed, clapping her hands together. "Sit, dear, sit."

Enni glanced to the Ardent, then hesitantly took a seat, folding his hands in his lap and keeping his eyes downwards, though he _yearned_ to get a closer look at the room.

The Regent stood and circled her desk. "Let's see what we have here then, yes?" 

To Enni's surprise, she made eye contact with him _and_ his sorry face and leaned in, nearly to the point where her nose brushed against his. Enni steeled himself, but kept his eyes open. _She serves the Mother,_ he repeated to himself. _Have no fear._ It was difficult to follow his own reprimands when she was setting her _bare hand_ on his right cheek, then pressing her _lips_ to his forehead!

"Blessed, sweet thing." She crooned, smoothing her hand upwards over his pulled-back hair. "You've got so much to give. Be at peace, now, in the service of the Mother."

He could feel the tears coming to his eyes -- both of them, thankfully -- as she pulled away. How much _lighter_ his heart felt just by hearing those words.

"I've been told you're an incredible asset to the Mother and her children, dear Enni." She reached for a sheaf of papers on her desk and began to leaf through them, pulling each sheet nearly three inches in front of her face as she scanned them. "You can read better than most, you passed most tests of education that many women struggle with, and there's no shortage of citizenry who can attest to your abilities." The Regent looked over her glasses at him. "Tell me you're not here to serve Asim, sweet thing."

Asim. The Son of Beauty. Was-- was she making a _joke?_ Was he supposed to laugh?

He decided to respond as if she were serious. "N-no, Mother Regent, I--" He paused. She wouldn't shame him for his muffled speech, would she? Apparently not, for she raised a brow and waited for him to continue. "I was hoping to serve Erik, if it please you."

"I'm not the one you have to please, my dear." She chuckled. "But that _would_ please me very much."

She proffered the papers to him, then leaned in to kiss his forehead once more.

"Welcome to the service of the Mother, Brother Enni of Erik." Her warm hand stroked over his hair again, much like a loving mother, or a kind mistress. "May your piety and devotion to the virtues of Erik bring strength to us all."

Enni sniffled, then nodded, barely aware of the wetness at his cheeks and chin. "I'll do all I can, Mother. I swear."

* * *

  
The most surprising part of Enni's first week in the Service was learning how few in number the Brothers of Erik were -- no more than three dozen, it seemed, split across a handful of dormitory rooms. Enni had expected to live in the larger dormitories he'd spotted on the grounds tour, but apparently, those were reserved for the followers of Iliq, the virtues of Obedience, and Omer, the virtues of Fastidiousness. After a week, he'd come to encounter far more of them than any of the other Brothers, though that was likely because their main tasks were the care and keeping of the Temple grounds. 

Those grounds extended far beyond the Temple itself, which was yet another surprise. Apart from the main hall of worship and the Sworn Devotee's chambers and libraries, the Temple buildings intermingled with many of the official city-state service buildings, separated by gardens or open foyers. Enni wasn't aware of how closely intertwined the Temple and the State was, or how many different State jobs the Devotees were assisting with or completely controlling. The Sisters and Mothers were in charge, of course, but it seemed even men of the service were allowed into positions they normally wouldn't, if only because they were devoted to the Mother's Sons.

That wasn't the only perk he was receiving for being in the service, either -- despite his outward appearance, he could count on one hand the number of times he was openly balked at or stared at. And most of _those_ were other men, not even women! It seemed that just wearing the uniform of an Ardent Brother -- a dark-blue, long-sleeved, one-piece dress that swept down to his ankles, and a triangle of cloth pinned into his tied-back hair -- was enough to deter anyone from treating him like an outcast. Funnily enough, _he'd_ been the one caught staring on more than a few occasions this week; something about seeing women walking around in identical garb just didn't seem right to him, but if Temple tradition called for it, he wouldn't complain. Perhaps the followers of Urlich and his Bold ways might, but Enni was happy to stick to the tenets of his chosen patron.

All surprises aside, things were going quite well. The stinging between his thighs was fading, a sign that he could soon forget about his castration and move on with his life, and the food they were feeding the Ardents was absolutely exquisite. His roommates were kind, too, a blessing he soon learned was more precious than he could ever imagine.

One was a Devoted Brother, a slightly older man who'd passed the first round of Confirmation after becoming an Ardent. His name was Heri, and though he sported a full head of bright-red hair, he was more cheerful than any man Enni had met in the service, and a brilliant mathematician, too. 

The other was Waren, an Ardent who didn't speak much. but that was likely because Heri kept talking over him. He couldn't have been much older than Enni, maybe eighteen at the oldest, and while Enni couldn't outright see any reason why he'd gone into the service instead of becoming a breeder, he was quite insistent that _this_ was where he belonged. 

In either case, it was nice to enjoy the company of other men for a change, and intelligent men, no less. Back in his village, Enni was the only man who knew how to read, and while that meant he was given the task of reading scripture to the other men of the area, none truly wanted to associate with him after the readings were done. Here, he got both: men who would dine with him, share stories with him, and treat him like a contributing member to society, and men who would eagerly read the scripture of the Mother with him.

He was in the middle of one of these reading sessions when the door to their room swung open, revealing the garb and arm band of a Sworn Sister of Telene. It wasn't uncommon for the Brothers of Erik to work with the Sisters of Telene, what with their Virtues -- Telene's Integrity and Erik's Initiative -- being somewhat intertwined. 

Enni, Waren, and Heri set down their books and looked towards the Sister, waiting for her to speak, as was the norm.

"Enni?"

He raised his hand and tried his best to enunciate. "Yes, Sister."

"Come. Work for you with Mother Clarissa."

Enni glanced to the other two men and exchanged a quick series of looks:

A raised brow. Y _ou're supposed to be working with us today._

A quick shrug. _I guess they've changed the schedule._

A nudged chin and a nod. _Telene doesn't lie, and Erik strives for efficiency._

A nodded reply. _Go with him, Brothers._

Enni set his scripture to the side and rose, smoothing out his skirts. When the Sister beckoned, he followed, but not before shooting an eager smile to his two roommates.

* * *

After a trek through the winding hallways of the massive Temple-State complex, Enni and the still-nameless Sister made a sharp left down a corridor labeled _Logistics,_ then stopped before the double-doors at the end of the hall. The Sister knocked twice, waited for a brief moment, then entered.

A tall woman with short raven hair stood over a massive table, poring over a rolled-out sheet of paper. Bookshelves laden with tomes lined the walls. There were pens and papers a plenty, but nary a chair in sight.

"Mother Clarissa." The Sister announced, standing up straight. "Sister Allrianne has brought you Ardent Brother Enni of Erik."

The woman stayed completely still, save for her eyes, which shot up to half-stare, half-glare at the two intruders. "Thank you, Sister. You may go."

The Sister, Allrianne, responded with a curt bow, then exited. Enni stayed standing, hands at his sides, though he wished he could fidget. Despite meeting dozens of people in the past week, he couldn't help but feel a bit nervous the first time he showed his face to anyone new. Indeed, the Mother seemed to be studying him now, though it was difficult to tell, as her expression was devoid of any emotion whatsoever. After a moment, however, she glanced back down at her work and barked out an order.

"Come, look at this. Tell me what you think."

Enni paused, though he _knew_ he was to obey. So far, he'd barely helped out at all, merely organized a few schedules for the Brothers of Iliq, or kept track of shipments to be delivered to the Temple complex. He hadn't yet been asked to provide an opinion, let alone to a Sworn Mother. Still, he _would_ obey, just after a moment of quiet confusion, and he soon found his way over to the opposite side of the table.

The paper was a blueprint of sorts, or some kind of large building plan. As he studied it further, he came to realize exactly what it was: a diagram of the city's water system. It was _huge!_ And terrifyingly complex, no less. Were the numbers near these lines pressure readings or chemical readings? And was each and every one of those circles some kind of valve or drain?

Before he had time to fully process the diagram, Mother Clarissa began to point and talk. "An inkmaking business here accidentally spilled fifty gallons of waste product down the wastewater drain on this street." She pointed. "Civil servants acted quickly and shut off water service here, here, and here, but chemical test are returning positive for waste products here, here, here, and here."

Her finger danced across the paper. Enni's eyes scrambled to follow.

"This number represents the reading," she indicated a series of red numbers by the aforementioned test results, "and population density is visualized by the patterns indicated in this legend to the top right. Assume all civilian-provided water source is routed through this purification system here. What would your first priority be?"

She wanted to know what _he_ would do? He wasn't _supposed_ to do anything. Women were in charge. Men were to carry out the orders. Why was she asking? Still, if he _were_ given the opportunity, or if he were the only one who could solve this problem...

"...the health of the citizenry, Mother."

"Right." She nodded, still staring down at the paper. "Preserving the water quality for the citizenry. What's your first move?"

A woman wanted to know what he would do. He swallowed and glanced up to her. After a pause, her eyes flickered upwards to meet his, waiting expectantly.

"Ah." It was _her_ turn to swallow, apparently. "Speak freely, Brother of Erik."

He tried his best to obey. With every answer he gave, she responded with a statement or question that brought more context to the situation. His confidence grew, bolstered by her replies and the freedom she allowed him. The city's system was vast and complex, and the challenge of it brought color to his cheeks and a smile to both halves of his face. Eventually, they'd determined -- together -- that rerouting the waste water through a different purifier would be most efficient, and that a missing control valve on the waterway nearest to the business would prevent the situation entirely.

"Well." Mother Clarissa began, taking a step back from the paper. "Excellent job, Brother. I'll have the civil servants in the Department of Water install that valve straightaway."

"Good. And-- and the rerouting?"

She shook her head. "No need."

"No need?"

"Ah." The Mother turned to him with that same expressionless look and scratched at her scalp. "I forgot to tell you -- that was a hypothetical exercise."

Enni frowned. "So-- so there was no spill?"

"No, no. An inkmaker's shop wants to open in this abandoned property at that site, however, and we want to ensure that any 'accidents' can be quickly rectified before they have a chance to occur."

"Oh," he said. _Ingenious,_ he thought. So _this_ was the level of detail his work would encompass. _Brilliant._

"You've got a good head on your shoulders, Brother. You're an Ardent? New?"

More questions to answer, but this time, he had the confidence to respond without pausing. "Yes, Mother, but I provided similar aid to my mother, who was mayor to our small village."

"I see. She taught you well." The Mother rattled off the compliment as if she were listing items on a shipping manifest. "I'd like to have your assistance more often, if it please you, Ardent."

_If it please_ me?He hardly knew what to say. Was he allowed to agree?

In the spirit of Urlich, he decided to try. "It would please me very much, Mother Clarissa."

"Good." With that, the Mother stepped around her desk and strode past him towards the door, beckoning to him with a quick wave of her hand. "Follow me, then. You've got a lot to learn, and there are always problems for us to solve."

Enni followed without hesitation. If this was to be his future, then he welcomed it as eagerly as the service had welcomed him.

_Praise be to Erik, for He has found me my purpose!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad people are enjoying this! I feel like this is the first thing I've written without being afraid for what people might think ("is it too horny? it is too weird? what if.. what if..."), so it's really reassuring that there's a good handful of you out there who are enjoying this wild ride I'm apparently taking you on. :')
> 
> Secondly, I hope you don't mind the off-chapter! I've been having a lot of fun fleshing out the lore in this setting and would like to take a peek at how things are for the lovely men of the world in other settings. (I may end up jumping back to this one every now and then. Things may get a little interesting for sweet Enni!)


	7. Uncertain Joy

Telenesday evening had drawn crowds out into the streets, filling the air with bustling voices. As the sun dipped behind the rooftops, the electric lamps flickered on, one by one, radiating outwards from the center of the city. With the weekend upon them, and taverns, dance halls, and restaurants opening for dinner and beyond, the citizens of the city-state's capital were ready to enjoy a long night to the fullest.

Euphemia drifted among them, her annoyance from earlier amplified by the buzzing crowd around her. Luckily, the city office wasn't too far from her mid-size state-issued townhome, so she wouldn't have to endure it for long. Soon, she'd be home, and fed, and hopefully entertained by whatever actions Ari was about to take.

She'd given Kihel permission to speak with him. Mother knew the disobedient boy would likely seek him out before long, so it was better to let it happen early, in a controlled environment that wouldn't end up leaving long, bloody gashes on his thighs again. She expected that, given an entire day to explain things to the troublemaker, Ari would shape up fast.

_Though I wouldn't mind beating him bloody again._

The thought flashed through her mind without warning, and she struggled to stuff it back down from whence it had come. _Other_ thoughts now. The weekend! She'd been meaning to go to the market with Kihel. Perhaps she'd take Ari, too, if he'd earned it. He could prove himself to her by showing he had skills other than _disobeying_ and crying _mistress, please!_ as she rammed a hard--

Euphemia bit down on her tongue. Yes, she was still a bit upset with Ari, but her current emotions were coming from a long workday and too many people around her. It wouldn't be right to take those out on the poor boy, even in her head, and even if, by some mistresses' opinions, he deserved it.

A turn off the main road took her out of the crowd, and a few more turns brought her to the door of her two-story townhome. She cracked her neck, then rummaged around in her briefcase for the key and unlocked the door.

It swung open to reveal the scene she'd been expecting: both Kihel and Ari, bowed to the floor with perfect postures. Her eyes lingered on Kihel's long eyelashes and supple lips, and as always, her heart skipped a beat. When her gaze settled on Ari, however, her subsiding rage from earlier rekindled tenfold. How _dare_ he get so close to him. If he laid a _finger_ on Kihel, she'd--

She stopped. Gods, her jaw ached from how tightly she was clenching her teeth. She took a slow breath to calm herself, then exhaled. Everything was alright. She didn't have to worry about Ari doing anything to Kihel. He'd promised to obey.

"Welcome home, Mistress." Kihel called, pulling himself up into a sitting position. Ari followed shortly after with an awkward jerk and a barely-concealed cringe. Euphemia nearly had to bite her tongue again at the unbidden reminder of just what she'd done to his backside the night before.

"Thank you, Kihel," she exhaled, setting her briefcase on the floor and shrugging off her coat. Kihel was there in a second, moving with the slightest stumble, to take it from her before she asked. Her hand rose towards his face out of habit -- she liked to play with that long hair of his when she got home -- but it froze when she realized they weren't alone.

Thankfully, her first kept man was quick on the uptake. "Ari's been quite good while you've been gone, Mistress." He turned to the patiently-waiting man just past the entrance. "We had a long talk about obedience today, and I believe he's ready to show you his devotion to that virtue. Isn't that right, Ari?"

The blonde's head jerked up, those bright, _annoying_ eyes of his shining with too much enthusiasm. "Yes, Mistress!"

She _tried_ to stay calm, but something inside her snapped.

Her wandering hand jerked out and grabbed Kihel's wrist, twisted, then yanked it upwards. On cue, the kept man crumpled to his knees, surrendering his weight to her. _Not enough._ She curled her fingernails into his skin.

_"Ah--!"_ He gasped. _Moaned._ Her heart skipped another beat. "F-forgive me, Mistress!"

Euphemia released her grip, turning her attention to the spellbound blonde. "Ari was told to respond to his _Mistress,_ not to you. You do _not_ give the orders around here, Kihel."

"My apologies, Mistress."

She stepped forward towards Ari. The younger man flinched as she raised her arm -- _perfect,_ that terrible voice inside her crooned -- and took his chin between her fingers. "If you were hoping that I might show mercy on you today, you were mistaken." Her grip tightened, soliciting a gasp from the teary-eyed man. "Since your memory is so poor, let me remind you again: you are only to speak when _I_ speak to you. Is that clear?"

He hesitated, trembling in her grip. "Y-yes, Mistress."

That was enough to sate her for the time being. "Go to your room. Kihel will bring you your supper. Go. _Now_."

After he'd scurried off down the hall, Euphemia turned to Kihel, voice softening. "Don't presume to know what I want from him, Kihel."

"Forgive me, Euphie." He murmured solemnly, though the smile on his lips was ever-present. "This is all new to me. Maybe you could tell me what you _do_ want from him over dinner? Spring salad, your favorite."

Her scowl turned upwards into a pout.

"Maybe."

* * *

_Whizz-crack._

There was _something_ about Ari's strangled sobs that delighted her.

She knew it wasn't right. Well, it _was_ right for a Mistress to properly discipline her men, but-- but the _joy_ wasn't right. She shouldn't feel the extreme desire to hit him _harder_ when he really didn't deserve it.

_Whizz-crack._

_"Agh -- for-- forgive me, Mistress!"_

That was the hard part, though: determining whether he deserved it or not. For as much experience as she had with the legal side of keeping men, she had very little experience keeping them herself. Kihel had always been well-behaved. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd had to beat him like this, and they were all in the beginning.

_Whizz-crack._

_"Agh-- hah!"_

Today was the first time she'd caused him pain in weeks. Months, more likely. Hurting Kihel hadn't brought her joy. Gods, she was still feeling guilty about it, even as she tore bloody streaks into Ari's backside. How could she hurt a man who was so weak, who had devoted himself to her completely, who-- who she _loved from the bottom of her heart?_

_Whizz-crack._

Ari shuddered. His keeper's hole winked at her as a bead of sweat passed between the cleft of his cheeks and over the thin skin at his entrance.

This was partially why she hadn't wanted to take in another kept man. Sure, it was typical for a woman of her social stature to have at least two, if not three or four, but she could get by with one. Taking in a new man meant teaching him the ways of her house, curbing any bad habits he might've brought with him from home, punishing him for any egregious transgressions. It was a whole cartload of work, one that Reg's cute accent and Ari's pretty face had made her forget all about.

She tossed the bamboo switch to the ground and rounded the table. A hand latched onto the hair at the base of his scalp and jerked upwards. Ari let out another sob.

"You want to be milked that badly, do you?"

Through the tears and sweat, he blinked up at her.

"Speak."

"Yes--" He coughed on his own phlegm. "Yes, Mistress."

She pulled his hair again, and his eyes squeezed shut. Something inside of her _sighed_.

If only he was as obedient as Kihel was. Even back then, she'd only had to punish him for buying the wrong items on her shopping list, or speaking back to her when she inadvertently insulted his hometown. One quick punishment, and he'd learned. She hadn't even had to strap him into the table. He'd been so well-behaved.

Euphemia stepped out of Ari's line of sight and selected one of a half-dozen keeper's instruments. This one would do nicely: a mid-length stimulator that increased in girth down to the base. The lubrication would keep her from injuring him, but the stretching would provide both the pleasure he was desperate for and the pain he deserved.

She'd milked Kihel the first night he came into her home. She could barely keep herself from him. For years, she'd dreamed of milking her own kept man. Sure, she'd milked others, mainly those of her university-age friends, or friends of her mother's, but never her own. Gods, she could still remember the pure excitement of seeing Kihel bent over, naked and ready, for the very first time -- and the squeal of pleasure he'd let out the second she pressed her finger past his keeper's ring.

Sometimes, she wondered if that was the moment she'd fallen in love with him.

Euphemia set the stimulator aside to retrieve the rest of her tools: a vial of lubricant and a long length of copper wire. She uncorked the vial, the sound drawing a gasp from the man strapped into the table, and dribbled a bit of the fluid onto Ari's waiting keeper's hole, working it in and around with one thumb.

_"Ah--- ah, hah!"_

She dried her slick fingers on the rag tucked into her belt, then reached for the wire. With a series of sharp, quick movements, she grabbed his chastity-bound manhood, slipped it upwards by a millimeter to expose the soft, engorged flesh at the base, then tugged the wire tight around it, making sure the thin metal completely cut off his urethral _"milk vein",_ as some called it.

Ari choked on a moan that turned to a sob. When she glanced up at his face, she could see his teeth digging into his lower lip.

"Stop biting your lip."

His mouth fell open. Sure enough, there were two deep cuts in his lower lip, not quite bleeding, but red enough to be raw.

"Better." She huffed, standing up straight once more. "If you're going to hurt yourself, then I'll have to gag you. Is that what you want, Ari?"

A shuddered pause. "Yes, Mistress."

That took her by surprise. Was that really his what he wanted, or was he just parroting that back to her?

Euphemia took a side-step towards his face, trailing her fingers over his ribs. "Really? You'd rather be gagged than left free to speak?"

"Y-yes, Mistress."

_Curious._ Her hand cupped his cheek and turned his gaze to meet hers. "Tell me why."

His eyes glanced towards the wall, then back down towards the surface of the table. "I-- I can better obey you when-- when I cannot speak, Mistress."

_Oh._

Something inside of her _really_ liked that.

"Hm." She brushed her thumb over his injured lip. "I see." Then stepped away once more, this time, reaching for one of three gags in her possession: a simple wooden ball on a length of rope. When she turned back to Ari, his head snapped upwards, mouth open and waiting.

She couldn't help herself. With barely-restrained glee, she pressed her thumb into his mouth, sliding over his pink tongue and tugging at the inside of one cheek. The kept man gasped, but didn't move, keeping those beautiful blue eyes focused on hers.

"Good boy." Euphemia crooned, withdrawing her fingers and replacing them with the ball gag. Immediately, his eyes narrowed, a sigh of _relief_ escaping from his nose and warming her hand. "Be sure to keep your ass up for the remainder or your punishment, or I will have to double it _and_ use the lifting bar. Is that clear?"

Ari responded with a sharp nod.

Euphemia returned to his rear. She took the stimulator into one hand and doused it with a generous amount of lubrication gel, working it into a slick over the thick device.

All that thinking led her to wonder: did other women have these kinds of issues? She was well-versed in every kind of legal issue a woman might have to contend with, but despite all her interviews and depositions, she'd never asked too many details about how women kept their men. Even when it came to the male abuse cases she handled, she only received the final report on the home behavior, which was hardly standard.

The head of the device pressed up against Ari's waiting hole. He made a muffled moan as it passed through the first ring, then a louder groan against the wood as the head popped past the second. Strangely enough, with the gag on, his moans had grown _louder._

Reg's home life was no standard to follow, either. The woman was an absolute lech. From how she described her daily routine, she had her men pleasuring her every waking moment of the day. Reg _also_ liked to make her men compete for her affections, in the most literal sense of the word: last time they'd gone out drinking, Reg described a disgusting game she'd inventively titled the "cunt-lapping contest".

Ari's toes curled as the stimulator sunk deeper. For a man who hadn't been milked that often, his keeper's hole was surprisingly flexible -- though this device would be the true test of that.

Perhaps she just needed to make better friends, or speak to _someone_ who could better explain what she should expect from a newcomer. Sure, she could probably ask her mother, but she still felt a bit uncomfortable breaching this particular subject with her. She'd grown to know many of her mother's men over the years, including the one who had fathered her, and while she had an inkling as to what went on in the keeper's chambers, she wasn't keen on hearing the details for herself.

There were others in the city government she could consult with. Perhaps not on matters as sordid as the specific punishments they doled out, but she could at least ask them what to expect. Asking for advice could potentially help to dispel any distasteful rumors about her home life, too.

_I suppose that could work,_ she thought.

As expected, as the last third began to tug and stretch at him, he began to moan, then _groan_ , then _yelp_ against the wooden ball, seemingly without end. His rear shuddered and swayed. It must have been taking every last bit of his strength not to let his knees weaken and lower his ass.

"Stay." She hissed, shoving the device deeper, keeping the bulb at the end angled upwards to avoid pressing against his keeper's organ. "Twenty strokes. Endure them."

Euphemia let his strained whine linger in the air for a moment. Then, she tilted the device downwards and gave it one hard _thrust._

Ari screamed.

* * *

After she'd put Ari to bed and washed her hands, Euphemia made her way upstairs, pausing briefly at Kihel's door to call him into her bedroom. Soon, she was snugly tucked into bed, Kihel snuggled into her bare chest, humming quietly, each soft exhale tickled at her still-hard nipple.

It had taken some strength of character not to pounce the poor man when she returned upstairs; she could tell when he was feeling too weak to be ridden like the last horse in the stable. As aroused as she was, she could wait another day or two for him to feel up to properly pleasuring her.

_Not every Mistress is so kind,_ Kihel always said. _You can use my body whenever you like, you know._

She glared up at the ceiling. _Nobody is hurting Kihel, not even me._

That reminded her of the guilt from earlier. She curled the fingers tangled in his silky-soft hair and sighed. "How are you feeling?"

"Hmm?"

"You were walking around today."

"Yeah. I was a little tired at the end of the day, but normal most of the day."

"I see." Her fingers scratched at his scalp, then went back to playing with his hair. "Good."

Kihel purred and lifted a leg over her thigh, tucking himself even tighter into her side. "How about yourself?"

"I'm fine."

"Hmmm." He chuckled softly, tickling her nipple with that hot breath of his again. "You've been on edge lately."

"You know why that is." She grumbled.

"I do, I do." Kihel tilted his head upwards to try to catch her gaze. "You're not being too rough on him, are you?"

Euphemia's glare turned into a scowl. "He's a disobedient little _brat,_ Kihel. He deserves _everything_ he gets."

"Don't you think you could use a softer touch?"

"No." She huffed. "If he keeps this up, I've got half a mind to let Reg turn him into her little cunt-lapping slut."

"Euphemia!"

The Mistress grunted. "Sorry."

"See, you're on _edge._ " Kihel settled back in on her breast, pressing a gentle kiss to her agitated nipple. "I, for one, think it's a good thing you've taken him in."

Euphemia grit her teeth. "Don't you dare say why."

"That wasn't the reason I was going to mention, love." His voice softened. "You're a good woman, Euphie. You're fair, and honest, and kind -- but you also have a firm touch, one this boy probably needs." He tugged himself closer to her warmth, then continued. "Who knows, maybe your efforts will bear fruit, and he'll be just the kind of man who _can_ prove himself to you. At the very least, when the time comes, you can take his seed. B-grade may be less than perfect, but he's sure to provide you with tall, strong children, right?

The Mistress let his sentence hang in the air for a moment, still idly toying with her beloved man's hair.

"He's not B-grade."

"What?"

She swallowed. "He's a D-grade breeder."

Euphemia could feel Kihel's brow furrow at her chest. "Pardon me for saying, but that doesn't seem right."

"Right?!" She jerked herself upright with that answer, Kihel barely following at her side. "Ah, sorry."

Luckily, the man took it in stride. "It's alright," he chuckled.

"Ari didn't tell you anything about that, did he?"

"No, nothing. I mentioned his B-grade to him, and he didn't deny it, so he must believe it's so."

Euphemia frowned. "So his mother didn't tell him what his _real_ grade was?"

"It seems not. I'm assuming that means he can't read, either?"

"His papers were right in front of him when his mother signed him over," she grumbled. "He should have been able to see them there."

_So Ari himself doesn't know his true classification. He must know about his fainting epilepsy, though. Does he believe his mother, then, that it won't be passed on, or does he really think it's not that big of a deal?_

"Did he faint today?"

"Huh?"

"His papers say he's got fainting epilepsy. Has he fainted?"

"No, not today."

She let out a _hmph._ "Bet that bitch mother of his lied about it, then."

"With all due respect, Mistress," Kihel began slowly, "not every disability is visible."

_Shit._ Euphemia bit her lip, trying to ignore the color coming to her cheeks. "Well, keep an eye out for that. I'm still not convinced. I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

Kihel tugged on her shoulder as she spoke, and she settled back into a prone position, kept man at her breast. "I know you will, my love." He murmured, nuzzling into her soft warmth. "What will you do if he is of a higher grade?"

Oh. She hadn't thought about that.

"I suppose I'll have him regraded."

"And if he's higher than A?"

She wasn't sure. Technically, she was allowed to have A-grade men in her possession, but some might raise eyebrows at the notion. Not only that, but she'd likely have to prosecute his mother for falsifying male documents, which would lead to a charge of transferring male ownership under false pretenses. The state would ask if she would still want to have ownership of him, and her answer would be put on record. If she didn't keep him, he'd become a ward of the state, and they would find a woman of the proper class to keep him.

Would that be a smart decision, though, given how important it was to produce strong children? Why give up on A-grade seed when it had been practically handed to her? Wouldn't that be worth the doubt and suspicion that keeping him would cast upon her?

This was going to be a lot more hassle than she'd previously thought.

"I'll worry about it later," she decided, pulling Kihel into her breast and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. The man responded with a happy little chitter, but said nothing more. A few quiet minutes later, and he was fast asleep on her chest.

Try as she may, though, Euphemia could not find sleep. There was too much to think about, too many implications that had yet to be explored, and while she was all too excited to get the bottom of this mystery, she was now all too aware that once she _did,_ she would have to make a choice. 

Upsettingly, she already knew what choice she wanted to make.


	8. A Man in the Markets

Despite the continued stinging at his thighs and backside, Ari couldn't help but smile as he tugged on his smallclothes. He hummed a quiet hymn to himself as he dressed, selecting one of his nicer button-down shirts with short sleeves, quickly fastening it up. For the bottoms, he chose a pale blue half-skirt. The short knee-length would have been considered scandalous, had it not been for the opaque black skin-tight leggings he wore beneath it. There was walking and working to do today, after all; one of his nice home skirts just wouldn't be practical.

He tied the outfit together with a dark blue ribbon at the collar, then dusted his cheeks with a bit of powder and blush and gave his eyes the slightest dark-brown outline. Lip coloring was a gamble, so he decided against it. That made him dressed, beautiful, and, to his standards, perfect for a day out on the town.

Ari sat down on his bed and began to patiently wait for the knock. The Mistress had been very clear about her instructions the night before when she'd put him to bed: wait for her, don't leave his room without invitation. A simple request, really. As excited as he was to go out, he could wait the extra five or ten minutes until they were ready to invite him out.

_ The markets. _ How long had it been since he'd gone  _ shopping? _ Months, really. His mother didn't like taking him out of the house much, likely because she was afraid he'd faint on her while they were out in public. When he was being tutored, however, the mistresses had taken them to the markets on multiple occasions, allowing them to pick up the tools and materials for their trades, groceries, bits and bobs on shopping lists—all in preparation for service to their future mistresses and prospective breeding partners, of course. 

Part of him wished he'd be able to go out on his own and prove to Euphemia just how obedient he could be, but he could wait. First, he'd show her he could be patient. That was why he was wearing blue, after all: the color of Omer, Son of fastidiousness, attention to detail, and patience.

Truth be told, he'd never been any good at being patient. Sometimes he wondered why it was such an important virtue, or even grouped with virtues like fastidiousness. Wasn't it better to get things done right away? What was the use in waiting when you didn't have to? At least he was humble enough to recognize that it was one of his flaws. Perhaps he'd ask Kihel how he stayed so patient with the Mistress. From the few days he'd known her, Ari suspected the Mistress was keen to fly off the handle or act brashly, a feminine trait requiring plenty of masculine patience. If she liked Kihel as much as he'd seen, he must be well-trained in the virtue of patience, especially when it came to her.

_ Perhaps I can learn a bit more about her when he's telling me, too, _ he thought.

Minutes passed. He strained his ear to hear what was going on upstairs, but there was no sound to follow. The Mistress hadn't come downstairs yet, of that he was certain. That meant Kihel was likely still upstairs, too. What were they doing up there? Was she visiting him, or still getting ready upstairs? What if  _ she _ were getting dressed up? What would the Mistress wear when she wasn't going into work in her formal clothes?

_ Patience, _ he reminded himself. Curiosity killed the cat—and men, too. Another flaw he'd have to work on. Temper his curiosity, strengthen his patience, and eventually, he wouldn't need to feel so curious, because the Mistress would like him so much, she'd just  _ tell _ him everything.

It  _ had _ been a while now, though. The clock ticking away atop one of the many storage boxes said it was nearly noon, and Euphemia had mentioned wanting to head to the markets before the eleventh morning bell. He couldn't hear the bells from his room, but the clock was far past eleven. Was something wrong? Perhaps the Mistress needed help. Maybe Kihel was in trouble. He had his condition, after all. It wouldn't take long for him to go upstairs. He just had to open the door, turn right, then— 

_ Patience. _

He wasn't about to disobey, not when his thighs were still stinging. She certainly hadn't gone easy on him. He hadn't bled that much, so her marks wouldn't scar, but they still hurt. He'd gladly take them tenfold if he didn't have to endure the  _ teasing, _ though; gods, his keeper's hole was still throbbing this morning.

Kihel had said she was a good woman, but Ari was increasingly unsure about that. Then again, he had disobeyed quite a bit, between sneaking upstairs to listen in on her and Kihel, and speaking without being prompted. Perhaps if he obeyed her to the letter, kept his mouth shut, and willed his curiosities away, the Mistress would ease up on her punishments? Even better, maybe she'd  _ milk _ him.

He could be good. He could be  _ really _ good.

The door to his room flung open. Every muscle in his body tensed, and pain radiated up his spine from his thighs.

The Mistress stood backlit in the doorway, clad in straight-fitting trousers and a women's button-up coat. She wore her usual boots, to Ari's slight disappointment, but it was more than made up for by how she wore her hair: for once, undone, falling to just above her shoulders, with only her long bangs clipped back with a pair of simple straight pins. Her eyes looked darker, too—was she wearing  _ makeup? _

__ "Are you ready to leave, Ari?” She barked, her expression and voice as flat and tense as ever.

Ari wiped the stare off his face and jumped to his feet. "Yes, Mistress!"

"Good."

Euphemia stepped out of the doorway to allow Ari to exit. Behind her stood Kihel, dressed similarly to the nines, though he'd chosen an outfit of reds and pinks, down to the floral embroidery at the neck of his collared shirt. He glanced downwards at the object he was holding in his hand, or rather, using to support himself—a cane?

Ari bit his tongue, but from the sympathetic look on Kihel's face, he knew his expression must have revealed his inner worry.

"Can you haul a cart?"

His head snapped up towards Euphemia's razor-sharp gaze.

"Y-yes, Mistress."

"Good. Follow."

* * *

The metal wheels of the cart clattered against the cobbles of the city street, adding another sound to the metropolitan symphony around the trio. The northernmost market of Whitehill was hardly the largest of the city's five markets, but that didn't make it any less bustling than the others. Dozens upon dozens of women and men wandered from stall to stall, carrying baskets, pulling carts, chattering with merchants or yelling after rambunctious children. Hawkers tried their best to draw attention to their employer's wares, shrill, feminine voices rising above the crowd like the cries of birds. With spring in full bloom, so too were the flowers at the florist's stand, the fruits and vegetables at the greengrocer's, and the strong scents of the spice peddler.

Gods, how Ari had  _ missed _ the markets.

He stifled a groan as he tugged the cart behind him along the center of the street, following closely after a cart full of squawking hens. Ari hadn't expected to be showing off his bare muscles already, but Euphemia had insisted that Kihel sit in the cart as they traveled to the outskirts of the market. Perhaps she didn't want to waste too much time waiting for him to walk with the cane, or maybe she was concerned about how it would make her look. 

The church said that crippling injuries were no sign of a man's strength of seed, of course; Ari had heard tales of A-grade breeders who'd lost limbs or eyes in great battles in wars prior, and official city grading standards did not downgrade for disability caused by accident. Despite what the church and government might say, however, women could not help but cast a doubtful eye on physical ineptitude. Accidents happened, yes, but how much of said accident was the man's fault? Was it proof of a lack of character, or strength of spirit or body? Was it not a sign that he wasn't being careful enough? 

Of course, Ari knew why Kihel needed the cane. His muscles weren't strong enough for him to walk all the way from home to the outskirts and back. If he walked, someone would have to carry him, and while that would make their Mistress look all sorts of valiant, it was a terrible look for the man. Perhaps she had Ari sit because she wanted to preserve  _ his _ image.

Forget Kihel, though. They'd brought a _ cart _ to the markets. A simple grocery trip, this was not. A cart like this carried something bulky and heavy, something one man could not carry by himself. The Mistress had mentioned his woodworking skill before and agreed to allow him to construct a bed, and though she hadn't explicitly said they were going to pick up woodworking supplies, it was all too obvious. Why else would she have brought him along?

"Are you hungry?"

The Mistress' voice broke him out of his thinking spell, and he slowed his gait to respond, meeting her eyes with a glimmer of excitement. "Y-yes, Mistress!"

"Kihel?"

Kihel opened his eyes and nodded to Euphemia. "Yes, Mistress."

"Trundle on ahead, then. I'll find us something to eat."

Ari was about to open his mouth to call out to her, but remembered her orders and bit his tongue. She didn't seem to notice, stepping out of the flow of cart traffic and into the crowd of people. 

Kihel, on the other hand, reacted with a barely-audible chuckle. "Let her be. She's very self-sufficient."

"I—I appreciate that, of course," Ari replied, trying  _ so _ hard not to huff as he pulled the cart forward again, "but it's a  _ man's _ job to serve the  _ woman. _ I just wish..."

"...she would let you serve her?"

Ari nodded without looking back.

"She will, eventually. Trust me." Kihel shifted in the cart, tipping the weight from one side to the other. "Not as often as you might like, but eventually."

The younger man chewed on that for a moment. "I thought she didn't rely on you because of your condition."

"Well, there  _ is _ that, yes. Back when I was feeling healthy, though, she hardly let me serve her at all, unless it was behind a closed bedroom door."

Oh. Ari wasn't sure how that made him feel up north, but he  _ did _ feel a sudden warmth down south. "Does she let you do the dishes?"

"Sometimes, if I've been good." Kihel laughed.

"Hmm." Ari decided then and there that he would, eventually, do more dishes than Kihel.

Not a moment later, Euphemia squeezed out of the crowd and joined him by his side once more, a bulging paper back between her arms. "Curry or cheese?"

The blonde glanced towards her with a quizzical look. When he didn't respond, the Mistress turned to Kihel and repeated the question.

"Cheese," came a voice from behind him.

Euphemia jabbed her hand into the bag and rummaged around in it for a moment before retrieving a thick round of bread pinched between a piece of wrapping paper. Kihel took it with a nod, then began to eat. Once he'd been served, the Mistress repeated the rummaging process, pulling out another piece of round bread. This time, though, she stuck it out in the air directly in front of Ari's mouth. The scent of wheat and curry spice waved up through his nose with each heavy breath.

"Here."

His cheeks darkened slightly. Did she want him to respond?

"You're hungry, aren't you?"

"Y-yes, Mistress."

"Then eat."

Ari opened his mouth and took an awkward bite of the bread. His initial hesitation was soon overcome by its blissful, savory taste, and soon, he was taking another ravenous bite. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the slightest hint of a smile on the Mistress' lips, but it disappeared as she began to talk.

"I don't know much about woodworking, so it'll be up to you to pick out the correct equipment and materials from the lumber shop."

Ari nodded, both because he was afraid to speak, and because his mouth was full of curry bread.

“I trust you know what you’ll need to build your bed?”

She glanced at him with an expectant look. When he hesitated, she added, “Speak freely.”

“I, ah…” Ari bit his lip, feeling uneasy all of the sudden. What had happened to the boldness he valued so highly? “Yes, though I will need to know what tools you have on hand already.”

The Mistress began to fish around in the bread bag again, returning Ari’s snack and retrieving a plain bun of her own. “I don’t own any woodworking tools. Think I have a hammer and nails hanging around in the closet somewhere for hanging decorations, but nothing for joining or shaping or whatever you do with wood.”

“I see.” He swallowed his spit and tried not to stare as Euphemia took a rather massive bite. “Well, I’ll need to purchase the necessary tools, then. I don’t plan on doing any intricate wood carving work, so a set of basic tools should do.”

“You can’t do wood carving with a basic tool set?”

“I suppose I could,” he thought aloud, tension easing, “but most basic sets only come with one size of chisel, and it’s usually too large for the type of carving I like to do.”

“Hmm.” The Mistress took another bite of her bread, then swallowed. “What type of carving  _ do _ you like to do?”

He felt the blush rush back into his cheeks. Was she  _ showing interest in his skills? _ Before, he might have leapt at the opportunity to talk more about his natural gifts, but after how she’d treated him, he only felt—awkward? Shy? He wasn’t sure. At the very least, she didn’t seem upset with him; in fact, her tone seemed slightly warmer than its usual emotionless drone.

“W-well, I enjoy small, detailed wood carving very much. I’m skilled at it, too. I can make all sorts of useful things like doorknobs or kitchen tools, then add a little bit of artistic charm to them with a patterned carving or two.”

“Can you make birds?” Ari’s confused look led her to explain further. “Carved into objects or just on their own, like toys.”

He nodded. “I can do a few different animals, including birds.”

“I see.” She took another bite. “They taught you woodworking during your tutelage?”

“Yes, Mistress. The tutors allowed us the choice of one or several useful trades, and woodworking always came naturally to me.”

“Good. Nice that they’re teaching men how to be useful.” Euphemia huffed, devouring the last piece of her bun.

A chuckle from behind caught Ari’s attention, and Euphemia’s as well. “They teach women helpful things too, Mistress.”

Euphemia’s flat expression turned downwards into a pout that was, and Ari would never admit it before her, extremely endearing. “Well, of course. We’re not meant to sit around and be served by you men all day. We’ve got to be useful members of society, too, if society is to be strong.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

As they approached a crossroads, Euphemia jerked a finger to the left. Ari followed, pausing only briefly to unstick the wheels of the cart from the rut in the road. The path, now dirt instead of cobble, descended down a gradual slope, following parallel to a waterway busy with small barges carrying goods downstream. It made sense, of course; the city’s wood supply was likely floated in from the forest just to the south, and no merchant was going to lug a shipment of wood into the marketplace proper.

“You know, Mistress,” Kihel chimed from his seat in the cart, “it might be extremely useful if Ari learned how to read.”

Euphemia’s pout intensified, her eyes narrowing as she rolled the paper bag up into a ball. “Hmph.”

“When we have time between tasks, I could help him learn. Plus, if he gets good enough, he could likely help you with your paperwork at home. It would be nice to have an additional set of eyes that aren’t my own.”

Ari glanced towards the Mistress as he eased the cart down the incline. For a brief moment, he caught a glimmer of what could only be fear in her eyes, but it was quickly extinguished by her deepening pout.

“I’ll consider it.” She grumbled, eyes focused straight ahead. “But it’s my decision to make. Don’t go teaching him anything until I say it’s alright.”

“Of course, Mistress.”

A few minutes later, the trio pulled up next to an unusually wide plot of land, swept free of gravel and rocks to better display the piles upon piles of wood that was laid about in neat rows. Ari set the Mistress’ cart near the entrance, carefully tucking it against the wall with the rest of the customer carts. Euphemia held out a hand for Kihel,which he took with one hand, his other grasping the head of his cane. Once he was settled, the Mistress approached Ari, hand disappearing into an inner coat pocket.

“You can at least read numbers, yes?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good.” She withdrew a leather wallet and flipped it open. Her thin fingers plucked out a hefty wad of bills, gave it a cursory flicking-through, then proffered the whole wad to Ari. “Will this be enough for your materials and tools?”

Ari blinked, dumbfounded, though he was smart enough to accept the money before asking questions. He knew the Mistress was well-compensated for her work as a public servant, and her assigned home was nearly twice as large as the one he’d shared with his mother, but  _ still _ , he’d never seen this large a sum of money in one hand. This was more than his mother earned in a month as a tailor, nearly double, and here was the Mistress, handing it to him as if it were nothing.

He had to respond, though. “M-more than enough, Mistress, thank you!”

“Good.” She put the wallet away. “Don’t spend it all, then. But don’t you scrimp, either. Get the good tools. I want to see what you’re capable of.”

“Of course! Yes, Mistress!”

Kihel joined Ari by the entrance to the lumberyard. “Are you not joining us, Mistress?”

“I have some quick business to attend to.” She paused. “Make that less than quick. I’ll return in about an hour. That will be enough time for you to get what you need, right?”

Ari nodded excitedly. “Yes, Mistress!”

“Good.” Euphemia let out a sigh, lips twitching upwards in a small, but recognizable, smile. “Impress me.”

The blonde replied with a smile and a nod. It was an order, and one he was  _ extremely _ ready to fulfill.

* * *

Euphemia glanced down at the hastily scribbled address on the paper scrap in her palm.  _ 1266. _ She was past the right street corner, then, seeing as the building to her left read  _ 1256. _ This particular errand wasn’t one she’d intended to run while out with the boys, but she figured Ari deserved a bit of extra shopping time to enjoy himself, after all she’d put him through. Boys  _ did _ seem to really enjoy shopping, or so the old adage went, and it wouldn’t hurt for him to get to know Kihel a bit better.

That, and he’d be too swept up in his woodworking excitement to wonder where she was going.

A few dozen more paces took her to the correct address: a large, three-story building that stood slightly apart from its shorter, newer-built neighbors. The double-paned windows were sparkling clean, and the garden that bordered its double-door entrance was well-maintained and pruned—a sign that the establishment's tutors were good at their jobs. Above the entrance lay the name of the school:  _ Greenweather School for Well-Trained Boys. _ After admiring the garden for a moment, Euphemia glanced to the small sign reading  _ enter freely _ near the door handle, then did just that.

The entrance hall was clean, and it appeared that the floors had been recently waxed, too. Already plenty of her questions were being answered, and she'd yet to speak to anyone. She glanced to the woman sitting behind the reception desk, who had her nose deep in a book. Her eyes caught the title as she approached— _ The Fabulous Tales of Gretchenelle Fabletown. _

__ "Pardon me."

The mousy woman jumped and slammed the book down. "Forgive me, Mistre—ah!" An instant later, her startled reaction had smoothed into a proper woman's calm demeanor, though the  _ tap-tap-tapping _ of her bouncing knee gave away her high energy. "How may I help you, sister?"

"I'm hoping you can tell me a little bit about one of your former pupils." Euphemia produced a copy of Ari's papers and handed them to the receptionist. "He's recently come into my service."

"I see. I hope he's not causing you trouble." She unfolded the papers with one hand, reaching for a pair of reading glasses with another. 

__ "Not particularly."  _ Poor blood, indeed, though I suppose it speaks to her class, _ Euphemia mused.  _ Though some have warned that all these new electric lights may cause sight deterioration regardless of blood. _

A quiet  _ hmm _ snapped her out of her thoughts. "I do remember this pupil," the receptionist began, "but I'm afraid I can't tell you too much without a formal inquiry." She folded up the papers and held them out for Euphemia to retrieve.

"Of course. I'll submit one next week." Drat. Annoying that they wouldn't help, but good they were following the laws of her office, she assumed. "Do you remember anything in particular about his personality? Anything that wouldn't be protected by privacy statutes."

The clerk crossed her arms and let out another  _ hmm. _ "He  _ was _ a bit of a brat, even close to his graduation. Boldness, the tutors called it sometimes, but I just attributed it to his low breeding grade."

"Do you find that many pupils of that breeding grade are of a similar disposition?"

"When they begin their tutelage, sure." She grinned knowingly. "When they  _ end _ their tutelage, not particularly."

"I see." Euphemia tucked the papers back into her coat pocket. "Did he ever faint during his duties?"

The question appeared to take the clerk off guard. "Faint? Not that I can remember, but our school doesn't typically take boys with severe medical issues. Most of our low D-grade boys are poor of blood in other ways."

_ I knew it! _ Euphemia tried her best to hide her excitement, turning the energy into a deep nod and a smile. "Thank you for the help. Would you mind indulging me with an answer to a non-specific question?"

"Of course."

"What woodworking shop are you partnered with for apprenticeships?"

* * *

Ari hummed happily to himself as they rounded the final corner that lay between the heavy cart and home. The cart just barely fit between the two sides of the alley, but at least the two-story buildings provided a reprieve from the blinding angle of the setting sun. Orange light filtered between the buildings in slats, too dim to warm the chill air enveloping his sweaty skin.

Despite his aching muscles and the cold, he couldn't help but smile. He'd gotten to spend an entire  _ hour _ in the lumberyard, examining types and cuts of wood, picking out choice materials for his bed and a future whittling project, then examining each and every tool the master blacksmith offered from the neighboring workshop. In the end, he'd spent a good chunk of the Mistress' money on everything, but she hadn't batted an eye when he handed back the change. Perhaps it wouldn't take too long to get used to the wealth he'd suddenly come into.

The cart trundled to a stop before the back fence of the Mistress' property. He hadn't spent much time in the rear garden yet, mostly because it was completely void of the plant life that would give it its name, but for now, it would make a fine storage area for the long planks of wood he'd purchased. With another quiet hummed melody, he set the long pull-handle of the cart down, then stepped over and around it to begin unloading.

Euphemia stepped between the cart and the waist-tall fence, then unlatched the gate and stepped onto the property. "Make a pile on the left side of the garden. I'll move the planters."

"Would you like my help, Mistress?" Ari called, already reaching for the wood.

"No need. You focus on getting the lumber."

Orders were orders. Ari let out a quick sigh and began to do just that. Before he could, however, another pair of hands was moving the heavy tool box up and out of the cart.

"Are you alright?" He murmured to Kihel, glancing from his trembling hands to the still-smiling older man.

"I can handle this much." Kihel responded. He set the tool box to the ground, then grabbed a pair of two-by-fours. "I can't let you do all the work around here."

The Mistress grunted from out of sight, then suddenly reappeared from underneath the fence line. "Hey! Kihel! Get yours hands off that!"

Kihel waved one hand. "I'll be fine, Mistress. I promise not to overdo it."

Euphemia made that adorable pouting face again, but didn't argue. After a momentary glare, she went back to hoisting and shoving the heavy, dirt-filled planter boxes. Ari took that as a missive to continue working himself, and soon, most of the wood pile had been successfully transferred from the cart to the clearing created by the Mistress. 

"I thought you'd need more wood," she huffed, wiping the sweat from her brow as she returned to the cart to help. "You sure this will be enough for a bed?"

"Yes, Mistress." Ari chimed. "The bottom part of the frame, the part that supports the mattress, doesn't need to be solid. In fact, it's better to leave open spaces between the slats."

She grabbed the tool box in the alley and hoisted it over her shoulder. "Is that so? I suppose it saves on materials."

"That it does. It also makes the bed sturdier. It's better to have multiple boards holding up your weight. One big board would just snap underneath everything." He stepped out of her way to let her pass. "It's also much easier to find smaller pieces to work as slats than one big board."

"Seems like woodworkers have this down to a science."

Ari chuckled. "I agree, Mistress. It's both art and efficiency in—"

A loud clatter from the alley sent both of their heads whirling backwards. Before Ari could react, Euphemia was bolting towards the cart, slamming open the gate with one swipe of her hand and practically vaulting over the cart towards the source of the sound. In the time it took for her to cross the distance, Ari managed to get out a single thought— _ I don't see Kihel! _

__ He rushed to follow. He couldn't see, but he could already hear Kihel apologizing, words hurried, tone hushed. "I'm sorry, Mistress, I'm fine, I'm fine—

"You useless  _ idiot!" _

__ Euphemia's anger was palpable. Her hissed insult froze Ari in his tracks, leaving him hovering awkwardly over the cart. From what he could see, Kihel wasn't hurt. There was no blood, and all of his limbs appeared to be intact. His hand rested atop Euphemia's shoulder, grip firm, but there was a tremble in his wrist. The Mistress' hands smoothed over him, testing each and every limb for injury. Behind him lay a pile of wood, the last few planks left, and the heaviest ones to boot. Why had Kihel even  _ tried _ to carry them, knowing his strength?

The kept man continued to reassure her. "Forgive me, Mistress, I was mistaken—but I'm alright, really, I am, I have no pain." He smiled, hand sliding from her shoulder to her cheek. "Euphie, I'm  _ fine— _ "

His words were cut short by the Mistress' hand striking his cheek with a  _ slap _ that echoed off the alley walls.

"I  _ told _ you not to help! All you had to do was one  _ simple _ thing, and you couldn't obey me! Men are supposed to  _ obey! _ Do you know  _ why, _ Kihel?! Because we  _ know _ better! Think about that next time you decide to do something  _ stupid _ and get yourself killed!"

Kihel didn't answer. His gaze was fixed on the ground, hands falling to his waist, tears pooling in his eyes.

Euphemia's head snapped upwards towards the still-frozen Ari. "Don't just stand there, you godsforsaken voidspawn! Move the godsdamned wood!"

Ari yelped, then leapt to do as he was told, shimmying between the cart and fence and grabbing the fallen lumber. Now that he was closer, he could see the Mistress' face, red with rage, and wet with a single tear. When she noticed his gaze, she snapped, "Go! Move the damn wood and get out of my sight!"

He scrambled back towards the fence, but not before noticing Kihel's hand rising for Euphemia's shoulder again. "Please, Euphie," he shuddered, voice weaker than Ari had ever heard. "Be—be kind to him, if you—"

"This is  _ all _ your fault!" Her voice rose another half-octave, straining under the weight of her anger. "Don't you  _ dare _ tell me what to do! If you just  _ knew your place—!" _

__ Ari didn't stick around to hear the rest. He hurriedly set the lumber atop the pile in the yard, then scurried through the back door. As soon as it was shut behind him, he sank down to the floor, heart racing. He hadn't done anything wrong. He'd done everything right, but  _ Kihel _ ... What was he thinking? Was this a common occurrence, or was he only straining himself because Ari was here, too? Why had the Mistress  _ struck _ him?

_ What in the name of all the gods was going on between the Mistress and Kihel? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (first time getting beta'd! thank you, Cesarinna!)  
> (also, if you'd like to join the femdom fantasy writer's discord, please do! https://discord.gg/H35WwBZ )


	9. A Useful Life

Kihel was tired.

That wasn't anything new, though. Most days, he woke up tired. Seemed like this day, too, he'd wake up feeling exhausted.

It didn't make sense. It wasn't like he was exerting himself in his sleep; almost every night, he slept the whole night through, waking only when the sunlight came streaming through his window. Still, he was sleeping poorly, and Kihel knew why. Each night that passed, he grew weaker, even if only a little. The muscles below his lungs drew shallower breaths, the muscles around his heart beat one millisecond slower, the muscles that churned his stomach rolled a bit more gently. The doctor had compared him to a crumbling edifice: still functional for many years, but less and less habitable, until one day, its supports grew too weak to support the building, and the entire structure comes crashing down.

He opened his eyes. Sure enough, sunlight was just beginning to peek between the curtains, casting a faint glow on the old wood and brick of his private room. He took a deep breath, then tried to sit up. His body creaked and groaned, resisting his command, as if weighed down by a thousand pounds of weight. That wasn't anything new, either; these days were rare, but they were coming more and more often. For now, he let his eyes fall shut and allowed himself the luxury of simply existing.

A twinge at his cheek reminded him of what had happened the day before. Euphemia had hit him. He'd deserved it, of course. He should have listened, especially knowing how his legs had ached all through their jaunt at the carpenter's shop. Still, it came as a surprise. Euphemia rarely hit him, and only when she was extremely upset, yet in the past half-week since Ari had come into her service, she'd struck him twice. The first time, he could tell she'd regretted it, especially with how gentle she'd been with him that night.

Yesterday, however, _that_ was new. But Kihel knew her violence wasn't the mark of a newfound thirst for sadism, or proof that women, like men, could completely fly off the emotional handle. He could see it in her eyes right before—and right after— she struck him. Gods be good, he saw it in her eyes practically every day. Despite how hard she tried to hide it, it was plain and obvious to his eyes: Euphemia was just _scared._

She'd never admit it, but she was terrified of his imminent, expected death. Far more than he was, which was sometimes amusing. He'd come to terms with it not long after he was diagnosed. Euphemia, on the other hand, would likely try to fight off the Mother herself when she came for his life. She loved him dearly, despite his decreasing usefulness to her. That wasn't uncommon in and of itself, of course; plenty of women came to love and adore the men vying to plant their seed in their fertile gardens. Euphemia's love, however, could be all-consuming: she would endure any shame, any pain for him, and _that,_ in turn, scared Kihel. Her blood, beauty, and time were all too precious for her to be wasting any of it on him.

That was why he was glad she'd taken in another man. He'd hinted at it for months, now, especially with his declining condition, but she'd always refused. _I can pick up the slack. I'm not so proud that I'll refuse to do man's work,_ she said. Kihel knew that it was just another sign that she was scared. If she found herself another man, that would make him even more useless to her. If she found herself another man, she wouldn't have a reason to keep him around, and _that_ only scared her more.

Still, she'd caved, and now, she had Ari, a young, somewhat unruly man who could take care of her properly. _Pamper_ her properly. Ease the stresses of home; Gods knew she had enough on her plate with work as it was. Her home would be the way it should be: men taking care of the small things, serving as best they can to prove their worth, allowing the woman to be the best she can be. Everyone in the home would fulfill their grand holy purpose, to be as useful to society as they are able.

Kihel wasn't as devout as some of the other men in his tutelage, but he'd learned the scripture back to front like the rest of them. While the scripture laid out plenty of morals and lessons, there was one it stressed the most: everyone needed to be useful. To be more precise, everyone _could_ be useful, but some blood enabled others to be more useful than others in certain respects. Still, good blood or not, every person was expected to contribute everything they could for the betterment of society. Help the people around you to get work done, to keep the world turning, to advance our science and culture further. The stronger the populace, the better prepared we will be for what comes next.

Scripture spoke of the rising of the Never-Queen, Goddess-Monarch of the Void, perpetuator of disease, famine, disaster, and ruin. Though the Mother was powerful, her strength was waning, and the Never-Queen's power only grew stronger with each passing day. Soon, she would be more powerful than the Great Creator herself, and it would be up to Her children to rise up against her, to defeat her and prevent the world from ending.

Kihel may not have taken the scripture word-for-word; really, the world was more likely to end at the hand of war, famine, or a great plague, not the rising of some horrible evil spirit that drifted down the throats of good women and men and left them dead in their beds. In the face of that sort of adversity, however, a strong society would hold together.

To that end, some argued that to be strong, society needed to cull the weak; after all, that was why they only let men of useful blood pass on their physical and mental abilities to future offspring. Most religious leaders, and thus, the populace—including Euphemia herself—said otherwise. Every woman and man had something to offer to society, regardless of disability. Though, of course, women plagued by bad blood would keep their fields barren, and men were castrated for safety's sake. 

Some would have called it strange, then, that Euphemia had so fervently refused to get Kihel castrated. He knew it came down to that same fear. If she had him castrated, she would be admitting that he was unfit for her. It was the same reason she'd refused to accept his regrading as an F Grade male.

Despite her overprotectiveness, however, Kihel was determined to be useful. He knew how to read, and could help her with her work when she had to bring some home. Nothing too important, of course, but every now and then, she would ask him for his opinion. It put his heart at ease to be of use to her. He may not be able to do the dishes, or give her a daughter, but he could make her life a little easier. He'd do whatever he could, whenever he could. She, of all people, deserved it.

After all, he loved her just as deeply as she loved him.

A creak at the door caught his ear, and he opened his eyes to the sight of Ari's blonde mess of hair peeking through. Noticing he'd caught Kihel's attention, the younger man scurried through the door and closed it behind him. In his hands was a steaming-hot bowl of _something_ that smelled absolutely divine.

"Sorry, I should have knocked."

Kihel put on his usual smile. At least his face wasn't feeling heavy. "It's alright."

Ari let out an audible sigh and shuffled forward, setting the bowl on the small table beside the bed. "How, uh, are you feeling?"

_The boy never stops being nervous._ Poor thing. Euphemia had really struck the fear of the Mother into him these past few days. That was probably a good thing, given how gutsy he'd been on his first night in the home, but Kihel couldn't help but feel bad for him, especially after seeing the welts she'd left on his thighs. He'd _never_ seen Euphemia use that much force before, even when he'd asked her to take out her anger on him on passionate nights in the past.

"Tired." He deepened his smile. "I'll likely spend the rest of the day in bed." There was no point in telling him he could barely move his arms, let alone stand.

"I see." The blonde glanced at the steaming bowl to his right. "I made some rice porridge. I figured you would want to eat."

"That's very kind of you."

Ari fidgeted once more, then pulled something hefty from his skirt pocket. "I, uh, also brought some salve for your cheek. In case it hurts, I mean."

Kihel's cheek twinged, as if in response. He wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, but tried his best anyway. "Thank you. I— would actually appreciate if you helped me with that, if you could."

"Ah, right, no mirror." Ari breathed, quickly unscrewing the lid from the jar of salve and kneeling down by the bedside. For a man who was so socially clumsy, his physical motions were surprisingly smooth and graceful. _No wonder Euphie's got doubts about his grading._

According to his forged papers, he should be experiencing fainting bouts, but that hadn't happened just yet — _at least, not from when he's been in my view,_ Kihel reminded himself. He watched carefully as Ari scooped up a bit of the oily salve with two fingers, then reached for his cheek, dabbing it on with gentle motions. His gaze was focused, despite his frayed nerves, and soon, the whole area had been treated with care.

As easy as he'd assumed Ari would be to read, Kihel was finding it more and more difficult to figure him out, so to speak. He was eager enough to obey, but still made the simplest mistakes. His physical appearance and abilities were far higher than his grade, but his temperament was more fitting of an overexcited dog than a man hoping to plant his seed in his Mistress' fertile field. Was it an act, or was he genuinely that naive? 

He was beginning to realize just _why_ Euphie had taken such an interest in him. After all, why else would she have agreed to Keep a second man with physical disabilities?

"Thank you," he murmured, untensing and sinking back into his pillow.

"You're welcome," Ari responded, still sitting prim and proper on the floor. Try as he may to appear calm, however, it was blindingly obvious that he was still terrified to be there. 

_Poor thing._ Perhaps he could do something to help make things a bit easier for the boy. Something to help him feel a little bit less nervous in Euphemia's house, and potentially give him the confidence to try and win her affections. A tiny pang of jealousy twisted at his stomach, but he knew it was for the best. _After all, I'm not going to be around forever._

"What are you doing today, Ari?"

The blonde's head snapped upwards. "Oh! I'm, ah, going to clean the kitchen, then the halls, and then maybe work on my bed a bit more. I didn't get much work done on it yesterday, after..."

"Right." Kihel hummed. "If you have a bit of time, perhaps you could make something for Euphemia."

Ari blinked. "Make something?"

"Yes. You mentioned wood carving yesterday, I think?"

"Oh! Yes!" The way Ari lit up was too adorable. It'd earn him a smack from the Mistress, but Kihel wouldn't object.

"You know, Euphemia really likes birds. Especially little birds."

"Like sparrows?"

"Sure, sparrows." He chuckled. "I don't know what her _favorite_ bird is, but I reckon if you made her _something_ with a bird, she'd at least thank you for the gift."

From Ari's gleeful expression, it seemed just the mere _thought_ of the briefest affection was enough to give the poor boy hope. 

"I'll do it!" He chimed, eyes full of determination. "I'll make her a gift!"

"After you finish your chores, of course."

He shrank down. "R-right, chores first." Then, without a pause to breathe, he leapt up to his feet. "I should get started on those now, then, if I want to have time to make her something!"

"Sounds like a plan," Kihel chuckled. "Don't mind me. Off you go."

Ari offered Kihel the smallest bow, then scurried out of the room, though he was careful to close the door gently. 

The rest of the day passed rather quickly, even more so once Kihel had found the strength to sit up, then reach for the pile of books he kept under the bed. Euphemia was kind enough to bring him a few new novels every week, surreptitiously replacing the ones he'd finished when he was asleep. Recently, he'd taken to tales of romance from the Southern cities, where the air was hot and humid, the seasons barely turned, and the scent of tropical flowers was always on the air. He wasn't sure how true to reality they were, especially given the ridiculous proportions the male writer had given the female love interest, but it would have to be good enough. He wasn't about to make the journey down south, after all.

Ari appeared in the early afternoon with the midday meal, then once more when dinner had been prepared. The young blonde kneeled on the floor once more to enjoy a bowl of stew with him and gush about the gift he'd fashioned for the absent Euphemia. It wasn't rare for her to work late some nights, but she typically returned home early the day after he'd had an episode. Perhaps now that Ari was here, she didn't have to worry about who would feed or water him. Yet _another_ benefit of having a second man around the house.

It wasn't until well past the last evening bell had chimed that Euphemia finally returned home, the slamming of the front door from the floor below jolting him out of a half-sleep. He sat himself up in bed as she clattered about in the kitchen, likely grabbing an after-dinner snack. When she did finally come up to the bedroom, it was without words or fanfare. She opened the door, closed it behind her, then tucked herself into the bed next to him, tugging her head into the crook of his arm and wrapping her legs around his thigh.

"Euphie." He murmured, returning her embrace and pulling her close. She smelled of sweat and ink. He'd never get tired of that smell. "Welcome home."

She didn't respond, but the _huff_ of an exhale tickled at his breast.

"Did you have a good day at work?"

"Mmmn."

Her grip around his thigh tightened. She could be talkative some days, but today was not that day, apparently. He smiled and pressed his lips to the top of her head.

"Was the first floor clean enough to your liking?"

Her head jerked upwards. "You felt well enough to clean?"

Kihel chuckled and shook his head. "Ari took it upon himself."

"Hm." She tilted her chin back down, but her frame remained tense. "Seemed clean enough."

"Good." He raised a hand to ruffle her hair, which earned him another half-hum half-groan. As strong and intelligent as the Mistress was, she was terrible at expressing herself. Not uncommon for the less emotional gender, he supposed. He'd just have to try harder. "Thank you for the books. I made decent progress on _The Stonecrusher of Aves_ this afternoon. I think you might like it."

"You earned it." She mumbled in reply, nestling into his chest.

Another approach, then. "Ari might like it, too. I thought about reading a bit to him, but he was busy all day."

She grunted in faux disapproval.

"You know, perhaps next time you visit the library, you could fish up a few children's books for Ari. I could use them to teach him basic script."

He felt her jaw tense up again. Kihel knew this would be a hard push. Already, he knew the line of thought she'd followed: if she allowed him to teach Ari how to read, that would be just as bad as admitting that Kihel wouldn't be around _to_ read in the near future. Unfortunately for the skittish Mistress, it was a reality that would need to be faced sooner or later, and it was up to him to prepare her to face it.

"Maybe." Euphemia grumbled. "It could be helpful."

"I think so, too." Kihel kissed the top of her head again and felt her begin to relax. _There._ Men sometimes joked amongst themselves that while women could wield control over society, a worthy man could wield control over the door to their hearts. Kihel wasn't sure if he would call it _control_ of any kind, seeing how poorly-played attempts to manipulate a woman could end in all kinds of unsavory punishments, but he did acknowledge that men weren't exactly as powerless as some women declared — and that women weren't as strong as they wanted to be seen.

Euphemia was no different. She was frightened lionness, desperate to protect herself from harm, but too compassionate to keep it from coming about. She was rash, quick to anger, and sometimes, completely uncaring about the society around her, a dangerous sin in the eyes of the church. She was ashamed of how powerfully she loved a man whom society would deem unfit for her affections. All this, and more, was hidden by a stony exterior that denied all she was. While that exterior was well-practiced enough to fool most people, including Ari, Kihel knew that it would quickly crumble when the worst came to happen.

It was in times like these, with his Mistress frightened and curled around his side, that Kihel best understood the church's call to action. Euphemia worshipped him like the Mother Herself, and like the Mother, his power only waned further with each passing day. Soon, he would be too weak to persist, and Euphemia would need to be strong enough to face what came. While death was a gift of the Mother's, Kihel knew that Euphemia would feel the void that came after his passing as deeply as any fatal wound the Never-Queen could inflict.

He would prepare her, then, to the best of his ability. Desensitize her to ideas. Teach those around her how best to support her. Turn the love she thought was weakness into strength. Build her up and strengthen every fiber of her stalwart frame, so that one day, when his lungs were too weak to breathe, she could shut his eyes with a smile.

_Don't worry,_ he thought, feeling the last of her tension ease as she began to drift off. _I'll make sure you're ready. I'll make sure Ari's ready, too._

Euphemia let out a quiet sigh. Kihel felt his heart skip a beat.

_And I'll love you until my dying breath._


	10. Base Desires

Regitina was waiting for Euphemia when she stepped out of her office for the day.

"Hey there, Mistress." She crooned.

"Stop it." Euphemia groaned, pulling the door shut and turning the key.

"Oh, learn to take a joke."

Euphemia grumbled, but didn't humor her with a response. "Come on."

"I'm assuming by your stellar demeanor, we're not going out to the pub." It was Reg's turn to groan, even as she fell in step with the retreating lawwoman. "What do you need me for, then?"

"Your lovely company."

"That's a load of horseshit, and you know it."

She did, too. As much as she enjoyed Reg's company some days, today, she needed her looming presence as a state enforcer. Euphemia didn't expect her investigation to lead to any kind of conflict or violence, outside of some harsh words thrown her way, maybe, but it was always better to get backup before it was needed at all.

"I need a second pair of eyes for this investigation."

"You're off the clock."

"It's about Ari."

Reg folded her brawny arms across her chest and flashed Euphemia a knowing grin. "Oh-ho, following up on that _dramatic_ discovery of yours?"

She shot her a disgruntled look. "I don't know why you're so excited about it, seeing as you're the one who stuck me with a man with fraudulent grading."

"Oh, come on, Euphie," Reg snorted, pushing open one half of the double-doors that lead to the front steps of the city hall. "You didn't expect a muscle-brained enforcer like me to actually _read_ all those papers, did you?"

"I'm allowed to expect better of you, Reg."

"And I'm allowed to disappoint you."

Euphemia couldn't help but smile. As much of a pain Reg could be, she did sincerely enjoy her presence, if not for the banter. It was a welcome reprieve from speaking hours of legalese and arguing with women who couldn't defend themselves to save their lives, let alone their men.

They set off down the main boulevard, winding through the crowds of citizens finding their way home. The streetlamps were already on, casting their electric glow on the bricks and cobbles of the older section of the city. A few of the shops lining the street had bought electric lamps to illuminate their signposts at night, yet another novelty Euphemia was still getting used to. It was convenient, yes, but there had always been a bit of charm about struggling to make out a beautifully-painted sign in the dimming light of sunset, or the flickering of a candle.

"So." Reg's immediately playful tone was already putting Euphemia on the defensive. "How's Ari doing? One week now, right?"

The lawwoman shrunk down a half-inch, her lost height coalescing in her scowl. "Fine."

"Yeah? Cute thing's got a face made for sitting, though I bet he's downright _shit_ at it."

"Uh-huh." She looked away.

Reg leaned in closer. "Bet he's got the _cutest_ moans. Bet he _cried_ when you milked him that first night. And I bet you liked it."

Euphemia didn't respond. Any other time, she would entertain Reg's disgusting talk, but not when it was about her own home circumstances.

"C'mon, Euphie. You gotta tell me how it was."

"No, I don't."

Reg squinted at Euphemia, her gleeful grin twisting into a frown. "Euphie."

"What?'

"Don't tell me you haven't milked him yet."

Euphemia's silence spoke volumes.

"Euphemia!" Reg groaned. "You _know_ that's the first thing you have to do!"

She didn't. She was too proud to admit that, however. "He hasn't earned it yet."

"That's not the damn point! The whole reason you _do_ it the first night is to get his hopes up! Make him trust you! Gods, get him to love you for _really_ getting his rocks off, that'll make him work twice as hard."

Euphemia's scowl intensified. "How was I supposed to _do_ it the first night when he so blatantly disobeyed me and the rules of my household? He did it to himself."

"Fine, fine, so the first night didn't work." Reg's joking tone had suddenly grown more serious. "But you have to throw the poor boy a bone. There's only so long the sweet thing can go before he totally loses hope. You're not gonna be one of those mistresses who breaks their men, are you?"

"No." _Not intentionally,_ she thought.

"Well, then, you'd better milk that boy. I know damn well his mother wasn't doing it properly. He'll probably lose his mind and devote himself to you entirely the second you touch his little keeper's hole."

Euphemia grumbled. "I'll think about it."

"If you won't do it, then let me." Regitina grinned, her playful chime returning in full force. "I'll show him a damn good time. Maybe use that pretty little seat he calls a face."

Something about that didn't sit well with Euphemia. She could figure that out later. "No." She sighed. "I'll do it."

"Alright, I'll leave it to you." Reg mirrored her sigh. "Don't wait too long, though, or you might lose out on him entirely."

"I doubt it."

"You shouldn't. You've got no idea what a man will do when he gets desperate to get off." The enforcer broke her gaze as she followed Euphemia around a street corner. "Feel like half the men I arrest are acting out 'cause nobody's been milking them."

Her words had the intended effect. "Really?"

"Yeah." Reg huffed. "People like to think that women are the only ones who get violent with their scheming, but you get a desperate, pent-up man out on the street with no supervision, and he'll be just as shrewd and quick to throw a punch. Thing is, when it gets that bad, they don't even _think_ of the consequences anymore. They just _act._ "

For some reason, the lecture made Euphemia feel embarrassed. She'd gotten far too used to her obedient, beloved Kihel to realize that most men -- if not all other men -- were base creatures, controlled by emotion and physical need. Ari, though naive, was one of them. While she couldn't imagine the tall boy snapping and attempting to have his way with her, regardless of consequence, she had to admit that the idea of a disobedient man was more than a bit frightening. Maybe Reg _did_ have a point. She might actually have to--

"Ain't this the place?"

Euphemia glanced back at Reg, who'd stopped in front of a dimly-lit sign. She took a moment to read it -- _Pinestaff Wordworking Shop --_ and nodded.

The bells on the door handle jingled as they stepped inside. Two electric lamps lit the small shop floor, illuminating a few samples pieces of furniture and a gaggle of ornately carved deer on a shelf behind the counter. An open door revealed a glimpse of the anterior workshop, the sounds of grinding sandpaper softly echoing out into the shop front.

Euphemia stepped forward towards the counter, where a short, brawny woman sat atop a stool, using a small stick of metal to draw short, sharp lines into a half-shaped block of wood. As the lawwoman approached, she looked up from her work and smiled. "How can I help you, milady?"

"Afraid I'm not here for a purchase," the lawwoman began, "but for an investigation."

She produced a folded stack of papers from her coast and set them atop the counter alongside her lawwoman's badge. "You train men from the Greenweather School here, yes?"

"That's right." The woodworker reached for the papers and began to read. "This one's not causing trouble, is he?"

"No trouble." _Yet._ "Just investigating to see if his grading is correct or not."

She squinted at the information for a moment, then shook her head. "Don't remember this one, but Earli might." With that, she cocked her head towards the workshop door and began to shout. "Oi, Earli! Need your help with somethin', love."

The soft noises came to an abrupt stop, followed immediately by the scraping of wood against cobbles. A moment later, the man in question emerged into view: a hulking _beast_ of a man, at least six and a half feet tall, and half as wide. His beard, though well-trimmed, was far longer than Euphemia's tastes could appreciate, and his thick eyebrows were nearly bushy enough to completely obscure his eyes. As he came up next to the woodworking mistress, their difference in size became more apparent; the woman had to be at least four heads shorter than him.

Despite his size, he moved with all the grace and daintiness of a well-trained man, gently taking a place next to his mistress and waiting for her to give him instructions. Without hesitating, she handed the papers to him and began to explain. "You remember an Ari, pumpkin?"

"Aye, from earlier this year." His voice was warm and serene, too. Instinctively, Euphemia's work brain began to grade the man: good physical attributes, well-trained, master of a skill that required intelligence, strength, and dexterity. Perhaps he wasn't handsome enough or well-bred enough for an A grade, but she wouldn't be surprised if he'd earned a B. "The blonde, remember? Tall thing, built like a thin little sapling?"

"Oh, that one."

Euphemia glanced to Reg, who'd stopped fiddling with the deer carvings to ogle the man. Of _course._ His skirt was barely long enough to cover the noticeable bulge at his pelvis, which was only further accentuated by the tight pants that protected his legs down to the ankles. Women like Reg were the exact reason why men wore loose, flowing skirts to hide their sexual features. Too often, inappropriate dress lead women to cave to their most base desires and trespass on other women's property, which lead to _more_ work for Euphemia.

"Do you remember much about him?" Euphemia asked with a quiet, disapproving huff in Reg's direction.

The man glanced up from Ari's papers and nodded. "Nice enough boy. Trained him for just over a year. Good at pretty much everything, I'd reckon. Followed his virtues well enough."

"Anything you noticed about him that might indicate poor blood?"

He frowned. "He _was_ real scrawny when he first came in., milady Could barely haul in a stack of wood. He bulked up nicely after that, though, so I can't say it had anything to do with his blood."

Euphemia filed that observation away for later. "Did he ever faint?"

Once again, the question took her interviewee off-guard. "Faint?"

"His papers say he's been diagnosed with a fainting epilepsy."

The male woodworker glanced to his mistress, who shook her head. "Not while he was in her care, no."

"And he was here often?"

"Eight to ten hours a day, four days a week, milady."

"I see." Euphemia's lips turned up in a wry smile. That did it, then. It _had_ to be a lie. "Did you ever meet his mother?"

He nodded. "More than a few times, milady. She checked in on him more often than any one of our apprentices, I'll reckon. Nice woman, though a bit insistent."

"Was that the one who'd come in twice a week askin' to see him?" The mistress snorted and folded her arms. "I swear, you'd have thought she was a whimpering little man in women's clothing, what with how she begged and pleaded with us."

That got Euphemia's attention. "Is that so?"

"Yeah." She turned to the lawwoman. "More than one time, I told her to get lost. Told her if she had enough time to be arguin' with us, she had enough time to be properly useful to society. Shut her up more than a few times."

"I see." Euphemia held out her hand for the papers, which the man returned to her without hesitating. "Thank you for the information, you've been quite helpful."

"Of course, milady."

She stuffed the papers back into her coat with a grin. While it didn't necessarily reveal any new truths, this information about his mother's overprotective nature was extremely useful. She'd forged his papers, convinced him to lie about a condition he didn't have, and was desperate to see him to the point of bothering other more productive members of society about him. There was something more going on with Ari than just forged papers, and Euphemia _would_ get to the bottom of it.

* * *

That was, of course, if Regitina would let her go home to investigate further.

As they made their way back through the city towards Euphemia's home district, Reg asked the question that Euphemia did not want to answer.

"You know, Euphie, it would be way easier for you to just take Ari to a grader and get it worked out there."

She scowled. "I don't want his mother to catch on," she lied.

"How in the void would she catch on to you taking him to a grader? She's not following you around, is she?"

"No, but--"

"But what? You got no good reason not to do it." Reg huffed." You don't want to see a grader, you don't want to milk him..."

Euphemia blushed. "It's none of your business, Reg."

"It's all of my business, Euphemia!" Oh, boy. She was breaking out the full name, now. "I made it my business when I introduced the two of you!"

"Well then, maybe _you_ can explain to me why this woman asked you to find him a proper mistress!"

Reg's sarcastic look darkened. "She didn't ask me, she asked Teribelle, who asked me if I knew anyone who could help. I barely know the woman my damn self. Ari seemed like a nice enough boy, fittin' your tastes, for sure, and with Kihel how he is, you needed another man around the house. Don't you _dare_ go pinnin' your issues on me, Euphie. If he's that much of a bother, I'll take him off your hands and milk him into servin' me. That what you want?"

Ugh. Why did Reg have to make so much sense, and be so damn _imposing?_ "No." She grumbled, averting her gaze. "Sorry, Reg."

The enforcer let out a long sigh, then threw an arm around Euphemia's shoulder, half-startling the life out of her. "Look, Euphie, I get it. You're stressed out. You wanna find answers and it's just gettin' harder. Let me make it up to you by takin' you out."

Euphemia's scowl twisted into a pout. "Fine, but not long."

"That's the spirit." Regitina patted her shoulder and steered the law-woman towards a path leading the opposite direction from home. "There's a new joint in the dim district you might like. Before you complain, we'll only stay a few songs, and I'll grab you an ale. On me, alright?"

* * *

Euphemia only agreed because it would help her take her mind off things -- that, and, well, Regitina was being so damn _sincere._ How could she say no?

And so, a half-bell later, the pair of women found themselves in the foggy haze of the dim district, standing before a door painted with bold, red letters that read _We're Open For You, Mistress!_ Reg pulled it open and gestured for Euphemia to follow.

The interior was dark, lit by dozens of candles -- a welcome sight that drew a sigh from Euphemia's lips. A bar at one end of the establishment was lined with half-drunk women, coats discarded upon stools and chairs, buttons opened to show off lean physiques and the straps of chest supports. More likely, it was because the large room was absolutely sweltering hot, and humid to boot.

A random assortment of tables, chairs, sofas, and lounges were scattered across the floor, all facing the large stage that hugged the far end of the room. In the center, a smaller, circular stage jutted out from the main one, sporting a long, semi-taut rope tied from floor to ceiling. Upon the stage, and circling about the room, were two or three dozen half-naked men, fully shirtless, their lower halves clad in tight-fitting leather that followed the cleft of their rears and the bulges at their fronts.

"C'mon," Regitina hissed, leading Euphemia through the smoky space to eventually collapse onto a large lounging couch.

The lawwoman took a seat to her left in a separate chair, maintaining proper posture even as her companion undid the buttons at her chest and threw open her shirt. Even if acceptable here, Euphemia didn't feel comfortable showing _that_ much skin, especially around this many men.

"At least put your hair down, Euphie." Regitina gestured with her chin to the tight bun atop Euphemia's head. "Good number of the boys here'll play with it for you."

"No, thank you." She grumbled, crossing her arms.

"Suit yourself."

Their brief conversation was interrupted by a waitsboy arriving at their seating area. Though shorter than the both of them, he sported a physique most women would kill for, lean in all the right places and muscled along the arms, thighs, and abs. His face had likely earned him work at this establishment; his eyes and smile alone could have very well belonged to a Grade-A man, not to mention the soft black curls framing his round cheeks and sharp jaw. Unsurprisingly, Reg's attention was drawn to the panties he was wearing; the white lace at the edges dug into his asscheeks ever so slightly, and the bulge was long, hard, and angled upwards towards his right hip, revealing that the waitsboy was fettered in the most lax and revealing type of chastity device, one that allowed him to put his arousal on display.

"Hello, miladies," he crooned, one hand at his hip, the other clutching an empty tray to his side. "Welcome to _Open for You._ Not your first time here, I hope?"

Regitina took the lead, thankfully, leaning in with the world's most lecherous grin. "Hers, not mine. Start us off with two ales, then I'll think about grabbin' you for a bit of fun."

The man let out a melodic, practiced chuckle, shifting his weight to draw even more attention to that tantalizing bulge between his legs. "I'll have to ask my mistress if I can stop waiting on you handsome girls to give you a show."

"Tell her I'll make it worth her while." With that, Reg reached out with a finger and -- to Euphemia's _horror --_ planted her nail at the base of the man's cock and slowly drew it upwards toward the tip. The _give_ of the fabric revealed all too much about what was -- or _wasn't_ \-- lying between the cloth and the man's mating tool.

The waitsboy let out a breathy moan, more for show than anything, Euphemia assumed, before gently batting away the enforcer's hand. "Let me ask her first, silly." He chuckled once more, then turned to leave. Regitina swung her hand at his ass, but it barely missed.

"Don't you have _any_ shame?" The lawwoman groaned.

Reg settled back into the lounge, kicking her feet up on the small table and sinking into the cushions. "Euphie, we're at a goddamn heat club. Shame's the last thing you should have here."

Euphemia begged to differ, though she wasn't about to voice her opinions out loud. Truth be told, she wasn't exactly the biggest fan of heat clubs, both in experience and in concept. Men were supposed to serve a mistress with the hopes of proving themselves worthy breeders. How were they supposed to do that when their mistress had them tantalizing other women to earn her money? That was a show of devotion, not of good breeding quality, and while some women measured a man's worthiness by devotion, it was hardly the correct, religious purpose for keeping and breeding men.

There were a few women who argued that the men in heat clubs were lucky. Most were low-grade breeders that were blessed with good looks or a good-sized cock. Not only were they unlikely to be taken in by a woman of a higher breeding class, but their looks could and would be reason for other low-class women to interfere with their duties to their mistress, usually by attempting to distract them or lure them away. This reasoning didn't make Euphemia feel much better about their line of work, but she supposed it was reason enough for her not to complain about the existence of said establishments to the governor's office.

The waitsboy came with their ales, fingers intentionally brushing against hers as he handed them over. Reg earned an apology from the pretty young man, who "sadly, needed to keep serving, but would be available in a few hours, if she didn't mind waiting". While she flirted back and forth with him and the other waitsboy, Euphemia turned her attention to the man on the stage before him. Another boy with a Grade A face and physique, though from the mop of dark-red hair, clearly unfit to breed. He twisted and writhed atop a chair in an improvised dance to the beat of an upbeat piano tune, completely naked, save for a pair of dark-black socks that stretched from his toes up to his thighs. His cock, bound only by a metal ring around the base and balls, was fully erect, engorged tip pressed against his stomach, even as he spun about the chair. Every now and then, he'd spread his legs or stand and bow, revealing the sparkling brass of a plug at his keeper's hole.

A woman on the other side of the stage tossed a bound-up wad of bills at the dancer's ass. He continued his dance even as he bent over to grab it, quickly determining the amount. Seemingly satisfied, he made his way to the edge of the stage, meeting the half-clothed woman there with a grin. She made a few quick gestures with her hand and barked an order Euphemia couldn't hear. The dancer ran his hand down his chest and over his twitching cock, then turned his back to the woman and knelt down on the floor, raising his plugged keeper's hole to her waiting hand. She smacked his rear with enough force to draw both Euphemia and Reg's attention, and the kept man moaned. Her fingers found the edges of the plug, then began to slowly pull. The toy stretched and gaped at his keeper's hole, which curved around the ball-like protrusion. The woman's companion hooted and whooped as a second, then a _third_ ball emerged from the man's ass.

"Shit." Reg murmured, eyes glued to the lewd show. "I gotta do that one day."

"Mmmm." Euphemia swallowed, oblivious to the saliva pooling in her mouth. Loathe as she was to admit it, this was _hot._

The rich woman gave the toy a firmer tug, and the last two balls popped out of the dancer's ass. He let out a violent groan, thigh muscles shuddering, fingers curling against the sweat-slicked wood of the stage. The woman and her companion let out a cheer, as did a few of women watching from the other side. It wasn't until another half-naked dancer came out on stage to help the man stand that she saw the thick puddle of seed he'd released beneath him.

_"Shit._ " Reg breathed.

For once, Euphemia agreed with Reg's sentiment. She was feeling hot, _more_ than hot, _wet._ Her skin was tingling with arousal, teeth clenched tight behind her solemn expression. Misgivings forgotten, her attention began to wander across the establishment, gaze lingering on the scantily-clad men traipsing about from table to table. A woman near the bar was grabbing a palmful of ass and whispering in the waitsboy's ear. A group of older women at a table in the corner was pouring ale into the divot between a waitsboy's thighs.

Cheering and hollering from the far end of the room grabbed her attention. A half-dozen women, looking no older than eighteen, hoisted a chair up onto a table. In it was one of the dancers, arms, waist, and legs tied back to expose his thick, hard cock and light-pink keeper's hole. One of the women, long hair down, shirt and trousers unbuttoned, raised a makeshift cock between his leg, prodding at him with the tip. Her companions began chanting as she pressed it inside. The man threw his head back and squealed, shoulder muscles straining at his bonds, cock twitching at his belly.

_"Make him beg!"_ One of them shouted. Another reached for his nipple and pinched.

_"Please!"_ The boy gasped, trembling as the tool was pulled from his depths, then thrust back in. _"Please, Mistresses, please!"_

Euphemia jolted to her feet, heat pooling between her legs.

"What?" Reg tore her eyes away from the very same scene. "You alright?"

"I'm-- I'm going to go home." She sputtered, setting her ale on the small table before her.

The enforcer raised a brow, but didn't object. "Suit yourself."

* * *

Euphemia let the door slam shut behind her as she removed her coat and tossed it to the floor. Gods, she was hot. Too hot to be comfortable. _Stupid Reg. This is all her fault,_ she thought, hyper-aware of how godsdamned _sensitive_ she'd become at her thighs and ankles.

She turned towards the hall, kicking off her shoes. Ari sat patiently, waiting quietly for her instructions. He was alone. That meant Kihel wasn't feeling well enough to come down. If he wasn't feeling well, then she _definitely_ wasn't getting to do anything with him tonight, no matter how horned up she was, or how eager he was to fulfill her every desire.

Her gaze lingered on Ari's face. He was a pretty young thing, despite his grading. No, his pretty looks were the whole _reason_ she'd grown to doubt his grading. Pretty, tall, and broad-shouldered. Clean-shaven, which she liked. Silky-smooth blonde hair that was growing longer by the day. Shapely rear and modest-sized cock. If he didn't have any medical issues, then he'd for sure grade as a B-class man, if not higher.

Ari glanced up from the floor to meet her gaze, which thankfully, snapped her out of her arousal-clouded thoughts. "No dinner for me. Make sure my coat gets washed." 

"Yes, Mistress."

Gods, that voice. He _did_ have a really good moan. And he _was_ cute when he cried. Maybe she could-- _no!_

Euphemia let out a huff and shook her head, then stepped past the kept man and headed straight up the stairs. She just needed a cold bath was all. Maybe she'd get herself off at the same time, then tuck into bed without drying her hair. That would do it. No need to cave to her base desires like some kind of lech. She wasn't going to let Reg's bad influence force her hand.

She shut the door to her bedroom, then tore off her long-sleeved shirt, nearly popping off a few of the buttons. Why did it have to be so _hot?_ Why did she even _let_ Reg take her to that godsforsaken place? She should have known better. She was a lawwoman, not some lecherous freak like--

Something atop the bed caught her eye before she could flop down onto it. A small, wrapped package, bound up in blue ribbon. She squinted at it, took it into her hands, and gave it a shake. Nothing seemed to move within it, though it did have weight. Frowning, she pulled open the bow and tossed the ribbon aside, then pried open the lid.

Inside, on a pillow of white cheesecloth, lay an ornately-carved wooden sparrow. As she removed it from the box, she noticed the gentle details around the wings and belly, the shadows around the eyes, giving it a lifelike, almost realistic look. A small piece of paper in the box read _From Ari,_ written in a steady hand that was not Kihel's.

Her gaze lingered on the little bird in her hand, thumb stroking the delicate feathers on its back. He was _good._ He was trying to win her affections. Trying to show her he was _worthy._

It was enough for Euphemia to finally push her misgivings aside.

A few moments later, she was stalking her way down the stairs and into the hall, turning the corner to the laundry corner to confront the kept man hunched over the wash basin.

"Ari." She barked.

The blonde jumped, then spun around to respond. "Yes, Mistress!"

"Come with me."  
  



	11. The Mistress’ Bedroom

Ari knew better than to ask, so instead, he followed.

He wasn’t sure what to make of it, to be honest. There was something different about her. An edge to every movement of her shoulders and legs. Some color missing—or suddenly present— in her voice. A familiar fear began creeping into his mind. What had he done wrong? Was it the laundry? The state of the kitchen? The _gift?_

She walked past every door in the hall, then ascended the stairs. So he wasn’t about to be punished. That, in itself, was extremely relieving. So she wasn’t angry with him. Was it something with Kihel, then? He’d spent most of the day in his room, recovering his strength for dinner. Maybe she wanted to speak to the two of them at the same time. That theory got tossed out as she passed his door and opened the door to her private quarters. So it _was_ about the gift he’d left there, then?

Before he had time to overthink it further, he had followed her inside.

“Close the door.”

Panic replaced fear, but he complied, quickly shutting the door with a click. He turned around to face her once more. The box he’d left on her bed now lay open on the bedside table, ribbon discarded, carving set just beside it, sitting upright. He glanced back towards her, awaiting instruction, or orders, or _something_. Why was she being so quiet? Why was she so tense? And _why was she unbuttoning her trousers?_

“Take your shirt off.”

There was that edge again, cutting through the peaks of each word. He fumbled at his shirt, tugging it up and free of the waistband of his skirt, and tried to ignore the dread and excitement building in his gut. Between buttons, his gaze flicked up to see what she was doing, hoping it would give him a clue. She leaned back— _buttons, focus on buttons—_ then spread open her knees. A sliver of black peeked out between the limp folds of fabric. She was watching him with sharp eyes, and there was a flushed warmth about her cheeks and lips. A barely-concealed _lust._

“Your skirt, too.”

His mouth fell open, as if to reply, but he snapped it shut. His trembling fingers found the catch at the side of his waist and pulled it open. He caught the skirt as it fell free, stepping out of the garment and haphazardly folding it beside his socked feet. Shivering, and suddenly hyper-aware of the throbbing between his legs, he turned his attention back to the Mistress at the bed.

She sighed, then leaned forward. “Come here.”

Ari swallowed, then did as he was asked, stopping a few feet before her.

“On your knees.”

He sank to his knees, head hung low just between her legs. Euphemia slipped a hand underneath his chin and tipped his head upwards to meet her gaze. There was that strange _something_ again, the _something_ he was desperate to figure out. Her expression was flat, but her cheeks were so red. She was scrutinizing him, contemplating, but her thumb was slowly dragging across his thumb in an almost affectionate manner. Her chest swelled with yet another heavy breath. He could feel her heartbeat in those coarse fingertips of hers as they pressed into his temple, then into his hair, knuckles gripping at each strand as they curled around them.

_Is she— would she really—_

“You know how to use your mouth, yes?”

He blinked. “I’m— I’m sorry, Mistress?”

Her hand tugged him forward, towards the curve of her innermost thigh, towards the telltale divot at the crease of her smallclothes.

“On a woman.”

_She would!_

“Y-yes, Mistress.”

“Then get to it.” She huffed, releasing the grip on his hair.

Ari swallowed and shifted his weight on his knees. It had been a good while since he’d pleasured a woman with his mouth— one of his tutors, actually. She’d sung his praises back then, and quite loudly, to his embarrassment, but would the Mistress enjoy the same things she did? Even if she did, he wasn’t sure he could perform as well as he had back then, especially with how nervous he was. 

_Stop thinking and go!_ He thought, squeezing his eyes shut, then open. “M-May I— remove your trousers, Mistress?”

“Do it.” 

Still trembling slightly, Ari raised his hands to the Mistress’ hips. His fingers hesitatingly tapped along her waist, then curled around the loosened garment and tugged. She was warm—no, _hot_ ; her skin was sticky with sweat. She shifted backwards as he pulled the garment free of her backside, then her _frontside—oh, gods be good, her sex was right there—_ and hurriedly turned his gaze towards the floor, peeling each leg of her tight-fitting trousers from her calves and ankles. Her legs were divine, from smooth thigh to velvet shins, covered in the softest hair.

Following his teachings, he reached for one knee and cupped it in his palms, pressing his nose to the raised bone. Here, too, she was warm, and smelled faintly of feminine musk. He dipped lower to let his lips alight upon the start of her inner thigh. Women appreciated a show, or so he was taught, and their legs were just as sensitive, if not more so, than a man’s. 

A sharp pain at his scalp drew a yelp from those same lips, and a hand pulled him upwards by the hair, brushing the tip of his nose against a tuft of hair and a telltale humid heat.

“Get on with it.” Euphemia breathed, grip tight, but trembling. When his gaze lingered on her for a second too long, she gave him another tug. This time, his mouth collided with the sticky wetness, his cold ears burning against the heat of her thighs. “Come on.”

No time to think. Ari closed his eyes, opened his mouth, and pressed the flat of his tongue to the crease between her lower lips. Almost immediately, her breath hitched in her throat, and the fingers at his scalp curled into his skin. Breathing slowly through his nose, he began to pleasure her with slow, practiced motions, drawing his tongue upwards, then downwards over her most sensitive area — _the Mistress’ peak._ As he explored her sex, he kept his focus on which areas garnered the greatest reaction, though honestly, it was hard to tell. Aside from a few quiet swallows, a hard _huff_ , and the slight tensing of the hand in his hair, she gave him almost nothing at all. 

He opened one eye and focused on her facial expression. Though she was trying to maintain her stony, dismissive face, that same edge from earlier was slicing thin cracks in her facade. Her gaze was narrowed, her face was flushed, and there was the _slightest_ twitch at her lip—

Another hard tug pulled his face deeper into his pelvis, breaking his gaze. Right. _Focus. Serve._ He took a quick gasping breath, then began again, working with both tongue and lips to draw out her pleasure. Between his legs, a pressing pain was beginning to throb. He tried his best to ignore it. This was a test. The final one, as far as he knew. If he did well, perhaps she would give him relief. If only she would give him a sign that she liked what he was doing, or that she was getting close, or—

“That.”

He barely heard it over the sound of his own panting and swallowing.

“Keep doing that.” Euphemia whispered.

Ari didn’t need to be told twice. He kept his head in place, repeating the same circular motions with his tongue and lips. Her legs shuddered at his ears. Gods, he was _doing_ it. She _liked_ what he was doing.

Her grip tightened in his hair.

“Use your fingers.”

Ari pulled back slightly, making room for his hand to maneuver, but she jerked him back into position.

“Don’t stop.” She hissed. “I said use your fingers, not _stop,_ you usele—“ For some reason, she paused mid-word. “Keep going.”

The kept man groaned a quiet apology into her folds, diving in once more with his tongue. His right hand squirmed its way upwards, shimmying between his shoulder and her leg and wetting his index finger on the juices that had dripped down onto her upper thighs and the crease of her buttocks. Once it was slick, he rubbed it below his tongue, at the opening he’d mapped out before, then slipped it into her warmth. _Gods,_ she was hot inside, and _tense._ His tongue lapped at her peak, and her walls _shuddered._

_“Fingers._ ” Came another breathy order. “Not— not _finger.”_

He did as he was told, slipping in a second, then curling it upwards, just as he’d been taught. Upon the first thrust of his wrist, he felt her fingernails curl into his scalp, only to be joined by a second set, as her left hand joined her right atop his head.

_“Harder._ ”

Ari complied.

_“Like that.”_

Euphemia took a trembling breath, then seemed to hold it. Her sex tensed around him again. Was she close? It was so hard to tell with women. Still working her with his mouth and hand, he cracked open an eye to gauge her reaction. This time, it was obvious: her eyes were squeezed shut, her lip rolled under her front teeth. Her furrowed brow twitched every other stroke, and her chest curled forward ever so slightly. Tension was building in every _huff_ from her flared nostrils.

He had to focus. As tempting at it was to go harder, or faster, he’d given him an order. He would do as he was told until he was told to stop.

“ _That’s it.”_

Despite the tension wracking her body, the Mistress’ voice was calm, gentle, and lacking all the desperation her physical reactions exuded.

_“Good.”_

A surge of relief bubbled up from his chest into his cheeks.

_“Good— Good boy— ah!”_

Euphemia’s legs snapped shut around his head. Inside, her walls squeezed and tensed against his fingers in a rapid, timed rhythm. Above, she curled in over him, hands braced against his scalp, each heaving breath carrying a hint of the Mistress’ restrained moan.

Ari kept his lips and tongue moving through her release until she tugged his head from her sex. Gasping, he let his gaze linger on the last of her unmasked expression. The boys in his tutelage had always whispered that the moment _after_ was when you saw a woman’s _true_ nature. She drew her head upwards, relaxing the muscles of her face, and a gentle, uncharacteristically masculine sigh escaped her lips. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his, and those same lips turned upwards in a wry smile.

“Good boy, Ari.”

The relief that overcame him in that moment was nearly enough to knock him to the ground.

She smoothed her hand from his scalp to his cheek with an almost loving caress. Their eyes met, and the tired Mistress bit her lip once more.

“Come. Sit here.”

Euphemia released him, though she let her fingers trail across his blushing skin. He wobbled as he found his way to his feet. Had he really been kneeling that long? He couldn’t tell. Before he knew it, he was seated next to her, hands at his knees, body stiff. Euphemia made a quiet _hum,_ setting a hand atop his shoulder, then slowly, but firmly, leaned him backwards. Another hand beneath his knees prodded him to lift his legs upwards onto the bed, and soon, he was lying lengthwise, head just below her pillow, legs squeezed shut around the throbbing between them.

The Mistress sighed, then, still half-naked, _climbed atop him,_ sitting just below his navel and just above his chastity device. As she settled in at his waist, he felt the telltale _squish_ of the wetness he’d left at her sex. When she lifted her rear to dip her head into his shoulder, and left a good amount of wetness at his bare skin, he shivered and gasped.

A sudden wetness at his neck drew his gasp out into a moan. His back arched, driving his bare chest into a waiting hand, which groped at one breast, then found a nipple between two soft fingertips and _pinched._ A second sensation at his thighs alerted him to the _other_ hand dipping beneath the fabric of his panties and scraping three fingertips against his inner thigh. They moved lower, then _lower,_ then they were _at his keeper’s hole and—_

_“M—Mistress!”_

_“Shhhh.”_

Ari clamped his jaw shut, though it didn’t silence the whining and whimpering in his throat. Her finger— _fingers_ , gods be merciful—continued to tease and prod at his entrance. His cock strained against the device holding it in place, white-hot skin against red-hot metal, throbbing and pulsing with every quick beat of his heart. She was going to— _she was really going to—_

Her teeth sank into his earlobe, and his jaw popped free with another " _ah!"_

“Ari.” Gods, her voice was _different._ It was so smooth, so _sweet._ Just like the voice he’d heard that first night, when she was with Kihel. _Loving._ “When was the last time you were milked?”

The final word nearly brought tears to his eyes. He responded without hesitation. “Two— two months, Mistress!”

“Hmm.” That warmth at his ear. His cock pulsed. “Is that so.”

Her fingers left his skin for a fraction of a second, returning slick with _something._ A moment later, and her fingertip was worming its way _inside_ his keeper’s hole.

_“Ah—hah!"_

“Have you been good?" 

In an instant, his excitement melted into panic. How to answer? Yes? _Had_ he been good? He’d been trying really, really hard to be good, but what if he _hadn’t_ been good somehow? What if he’d made a mistake? Oh, gods, what if this was a _test?_ Did she want him to say no, or admit he was unsure? No, he _knew_ he’d been good, he’d done everything she wanted, and more, even, but what if—

Euphemia pulled away from his ear. He shuddered and opened his eyes, blinking away tears. Her expression had changed again, to his initial terror, but there wasn’t any malice in it. In fact, it almost looked like she _pitied_ him.

“On your belly.”

He complied, though the fear continued to wrestle with the arousal gripping his racing heart. A few seconds passed in silence as Euphemia shifted her weight backwards, then forwards on the bed. Was she going to punish him or not? If it were a punishment, then she would be asking him to raise his hips, wouldn’t she? Or was this _delay_ part of the punishment? Had he not done well? What was she—

Euphemia planted a palm on one cheek, then drew in her thumb to pull open his keeper’s hole. A slender finger deposited a glob of something viscous and sticky around the sensitive ring, then curled the tip inside, pressing slowly until he’d swallowed her up to the second knuckle with a quiet, drawn-out moan. 

“Ari.”

Gods, it felt good, but— but what if this was _part_ of it? The tease? She’d done it before. She was being so quiet, too. Oh, gods, be good, _Mother, please._

Out of desperation, he began to pray.

_Please, Mother. Let her be kind. Kihel says she’s kind. I’ve tried so hard. If she’s kind to me now, I’ll be the best man there ever was under your light. Please._

Euphemia drew the finger out from his keeper’s hole.

Then, suddenly, a heavy weight settled atop him.

That warm breath was at his ear again. Ari shuddered.

“I’m sorry, Ari.”

The kept man’s heart sank. _Mother, please!_

“You _have_ been good.”

Something hard and _bulbous_ pressed up against his ass.

“You deserve a reward.”

She urged it inwards, and the bulb squeezed inside of him. The shaft behind it strained at his entrance, tugging slightly as the stimulator sunk deeper. 

_“Ah… hah!”_

“That’s it." 

A little further, and _gods—_ his eyes rolled back, then fluttered shut. A hardly masculine groan thrummed in his throat and against his grit teeth. Thank the gods he was prone, for he had certainly lost all feeling in his thighs and knees. She was barely applying any pressure to it, but just the slightest _brush_ of the tip against his keeper’s organ was _paradise._

“I wan—“ Euphemia paused, swallowing, then continued. “Beg for me.”

Ari’s mouth fell open with another groan. “Mis—“ She adjusted her grip at the base, and _gods_. “Mistress!”

“Ari.”

Her hand shifted forwards. The shaft pulled upwards on his ring. The bulb pressed downwards.

_“Agh— ahh!”_

Euphemia drew her hand backwards, then forwards again.

A shock of pleasure surged through Ari’s muscles, tensing, locking him in place beneath her. His mind fogged with the sensation, barely rendering him conscious of the drawn-out moan quivering in his throat. 

She followed with another thrust, then another, and soon, his fingers were gripping at the sheets, tears wetting his cheek and temple as each motion squeezed sobs from his heaving chest.

Through the haze, the Mistress murmured.

“Beg for me, Ari.”

Ari obeyed. “Please,” he gasped. "Please, Mistress, _please, please--"_

 _"_ Good boy."

Her strokes fell into a quick, smooth rhythm, and all sense of time and space dissolved into pleasure. He was vaguely aware of the chorus of lewd moans spilling from his lips, but made no attempt to stop them. It had been so long. Too long. It was so good. _Too_ good. He--

_"Ah-- hah!"_

Five strokes later, and he was gone, shuddering under the weight of his release. His swollen, trapped cock spilled the contents of his keeper's organ beneath his quivering thighs, pooling and soaking into his panties and the sheets below. Behind, the Mistress rolled the tip of the instrument against his organ again and again, chasing out spasm after spasm of tension, then release, followed by another generous emission of seed. All the while, her warm weight held him in place, her lips soft at his ear, and her voice murmuring the two words he'd most wanted to hear: _"Good boy."_

Moments, or eons, later, Euphemia lifted herself off his tired body. A slow tug with her sweat-slicked hand drew the toy from his ass with a quiet _sigh._ She sat there, unmoving, for another eon, before planting her palm on one cheek and giving it a hearty squeeze, spurring Ari to strain against the haze.

 _"_ Thank you, Mistress." He squeaked.

"Hm."

Euphemia leaned forward and stood. Swallowing, Ari let his eyes flutter open. Her expression was seemingly back to normal, stony and impossible to read, but the flush in her cheeks remained.

"Keep this up, and you'll be milked far more often than once every two months."

There was a slight waver to her voice, too, but Ari was far too exhausted to read into it further. For now, he was happy just basking in the warmth of his release.

"You can stay in this bed tonight. Wash the sheets tomorrow morning."

He closed his eyes. "Yes, Mistress."

Before he knew it, she was shutting the door behind her, leaving him alone in her quarters. As weirdly cold as her behavior might have seemed, Ari couldn't help but see it for what it was: endearing. Euphemia was shy. Kind, too, and truly cared for the men who served her. She liked him, and, well...

Ari was beginning to think that he liked her, too.


	12. ASIDE: Birthday Blessings

Amelie Greystone was now thoroughly convinced that pregnancy was a scam.

All her life, she’d been led to believe it was the greatest thing she could accomplish for society. Hell, it was the whole reason they kept men in the first place. Get pregnant, bring forth new, stronger, better life, at least once, if not twice. Let your body be swollen with the joy of creation, the pinnacle of the Mother’s intelligence, the capability that made Woman great and Man her lesser. 

Oh, her body was swollen, all right. All _over,_ from her feet up to her neck. A joyous creation of sweat, bile, and wrenching every time she walked by the curry cart. The little bitch or brat inside her squirmed anytime she even _thought_ of standing up, and its little arms and legs knew _exactly_ where to punch or kick to weaken her bladder or squeeze the breath out of her.

Right now, though, it was making these stairs up to the temple one of the most excruciating experiences of her life.

Amelie squeezed the trickle of sweat from her eyes. “If the Mother liked... pregnant women so much, she wouldn’t build her... shit up so high.”

“I could always carry you, Amie.”

She was too exhausted to look towards him. “Not on my… godsdamned watch.”

The man let out a sigh, but kept his arm underneath her elbow. She’d allow that much, at least. “What was that about not attracting attention?”

“I have… my principles.” She huffed. Voidspawn in her belly or not, she was _not_ going to subject her _partner_ to the sexist humiliation the world demanded.

Dani nodded and followed, as always. Amelie knew he approved of her participation in the Women’s Society for the Promotion of Men, but society’s outdated values had long been ingrained in his psyche. Try as she may, and she _would_ try, damn it all, she’d treat him as an equal— at least, as best as she could while _not_ completely demolishing her life and station.

At long last, they reached the top of the steps. Amelie let out a groan and bent over, hands on knees, and took a few deep breaths. Dani crouched down to get a look at her face, courteous as ever. She squinted at his statistically-determined imperfect features: nose too hooked, skin too pale, eyes too dark, brows too thick, chin too sharp. As always, her heart fluttered. 

_Fuck the state,_ she thought. _To me, he's Grade A beauty._

"I'm fine," she insisted before he asked. "Just give me a... give me a moment."

"Of course."

His politeness irked her, though she knew _why_ he was putting on this little show. Still, she wasn't about to pretend it was alright. "You go on, I'll catch up. Go get powdered."

"You know I need to stay with you." At least this time, his expected response was as _firm_ as she'd wanted. 

She sighed--or huffed, really-- then let him support her as she caught her breath. The demon inside of her twisted and complained. Eventually, _thankfully,_ her strength came back.

"Powder." She repeated.

Dani kept his arm on her elbow as they approached the purification dais. Three sets of perfectly square wooden platforms stood at waist level, containing the three blessings necessary to enter the temple grounds. Amelie dipped her hands in the pile of white powder on the first platform, careful not to let any puff up onto her clothes or gods forbid, into her nose. She rubbed the chalk into her palms until every line was well-defined, then stepped to her right and dunked them into the water of the second platform. The liquid clouded as the chalk dissolved, then ran off the sides of the small fountain. She shook the water from her hands, then proceeded to the third platform, where a series of cotton balls on sticks lay soaking in an auburn liquid. She took one in her right hand, dabbed the aromatic oil on the back of her left wrist, then repeated the process for her right, before setting the stick back into place.

Amelie watched Dani follow the ritual with an impatient eye. "Chalk was always a bit of a stretch." She murmured.

_"Amie."_ He hissed, glancing towards her with that same flat expression. "Not _here._ "

"Why does chalk represent creation? Shouldn't that be soil, or seeds? I'd sure like to plunge my hand into a box of grain than get chalk all over my godsdamned trousers."

" _Amie!"_ Dani's lips twisted into a hint of a frown.

"Sorry."

The kept man let out a small huff as he finished with the oil, then returned to her side. "You _did_ get a proper education, so you _should_ know the answer to your very _un-_ rhetorical question."

She did, too. That didn't stop her from feeling the almost spiteful need to question their religion. It wasn't a _terrible_ belief system, and it _did_ make sense in a lot of ways. She just didn't like the way it treated men, that was all. It didn't help that every single ritual involved men taking a backseat in some way. If things were truly equal, she'd have dunked her hands in a pool of oil, too, but because men were only _truly necessary for creation in small amounts,_ so too was the oil on her wrists.

_So stupid._ Maybe she'd put extra oil on her hands just to spite the devotees.

Dani stopped her before she even thought about moving her hand towards the third platform, however. "If you dislike being here this much, then let's get your blessing and head home."

"Alright, alright." She grumbled, striding forward as he took her elbow once more.

The public grounds of the temple were smaller than one might expect for a city this size; the square plaza atop the stairs could be crossed in a minute of brisk walking. The buildings to a visitor's immediate right and left housed the devotees of the deities, with only the center temple accessible to the public. There, once a visitor had purified themselves and traveled around the pond and through the gardens, they could worship freely in the grand hall, ask for prayers or a blessing, or purchase charms or other small, insignificant gifts.

Amelie wasn't one for prayer, but tradition _was_ tradition, and today _was_ her birthday. Might as well make an appearance, get her yearly trinket, and maybe, just _maybe,_ the little fiend inside her would be blessed or _something--_ or at least given a stern talking-to from Iliq.

Loathe as she was to admit it, the gardens _were_ impressive. Tiny insects flitted about the carefully-planted flowers and tall, sweeping grasses, and crystalline statues of geometric shapes dotted the perimeter of the circular pond in the center. Two of each color to represent each of the goddesses and gods, separated in female and male sides. In the center of the pond lie a large spherical statue, carved of glimmering white marble. _The Mother._ Sometimes depicted as a dignified, mature woman, but often personified as this big, ivory ball. _Light and energy and all that is good,_ her mother said when she was young. _A sphere for the shape of the world in which we live._

Amelie wondered if that meant Lana's world was one big pyramid. 

"You're tense." Dani murmured. "Are you sure you don't want to sit for a moment?"

"I'm fine. Like you said, let's get the blessing and head home."

"Alright." He turned back towards the temple.

If she weren't so godsdamned tired, maybe she would've flirted with him a little, just to be _extra_ deviant on sacred grounds. _The only blessing I need is you, sweetcake._ She _did_ so love to make him blush.

Luckily, there were only four steps up to the temple, which she took with as much grace as a lumbering bear. Once under the smooth wooden roof, the couple passed through the plain double doors and made a left down the hallway, following a sign that read _Blessings_ and _Devotee Chambers (Male)._ It stretched on for a short while, accommodating the massive width of the grand prayer hall, before joining the longer vertical hallway. They turned right, heading deeper into the cool air of the sanctum. Amelie glanced at the walls, painted with geometric shapes in light, deity-appropriate colors. It _was_ oddly comforting, though perhaps it was just the eerie quiet of the place.

An open archway on the left lead to the hall of blessings, though it was more of a small room than a hall. The walls, if you could call them that, were made of a series of tall doors, each leading into a private blessing room. At its center was a small desk, manned by a solitary female devotee, though she could have been a full-fledged Sister. Amelie never got around to memorizing what all of the markings on their arm bands meant. They'd all respond to _Sister_ or _Brother_ , anyway. This one's arm band was blue. _Mara, Goddess of Creation. So this was going to be doubly annoying._

"Good morning, Sister," the red-haired Ardent chimed, shifting slightly in her formal, statue-like stance. "Brother." Her eyes glanced downwards at Amelie's swollen belly. Her grin spread even wider, voice brightening to a sickeningly-sweet tone. _Ugh._ "Blessings upon you and your divine act of creation, Mother."

"Thanks." She huffed, waddling up to the desk. A donation basket sat to the left of the main attraction, a large semi-organized pile of woven cords. Each was cut to the same size, with each of the five divine colors in their own section.

The Ardent leaned forward with that annoying grin. "How may the Sisters and Brothers bless you this day, Mother?"

"It's my birthday."

"A fortuitous day indeed," she chuckled, reaching down for a blue cord. "Might I suggest a slight modification to the traditional birthday charm?"

Amelie fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Go ahead." 

Though she couldn't see it, she could feel Dani's stern glare on her cheek.

The Ardent set the blue cord in her opposite palm, then grabbed a second. "Two blessings of creation to support you and your child, one blessing of contribution to honor your devotion." She reached for the white pile, retrieving one length. "One blessing each of fortitude and strength to maintain your health and composure." As she spoke, she tugged out a yellow and red cord, completing the set, then depositing them into Amelie's outstretched hands.

"Thanks."

The Ardent's smile twitched. "Do you have any preference as to Sister or Brother, beloved Mother?"

That, she _did._ "A Brother, if you please."

The woman looked taken aback for a slight second, but it quickly faded back into that horrible smile. "Of course. The third door on that wall, Mother."

Amelie indulged her with a half-correct bow, then turned to follow her directions, Dani following close behind. She would have liked him at her side, but the Ardent was watching, and Dani was not yet as bold as his lover.

The uncomfortably pregnant _Mother_ pulled the door open without a second thought and stepped into the small, dark chamber. A lattice of wood near the ceiling allowed light to filter in through the dusty air, illuminating the knee-high table that would separate follower from devotee. A single steel ring lay atop it for now. Before it, two floor cushions sat waiting for them. She shuffled forward and slumped to the ground with a grunt, adjusting her legs with little thought to the Brother watching behind the table.

Dani knelt down beside her, taking the cushion into his hands and pulling it back, as if to sit behind her. As was _proper_ for a man. Amelie caught his wrist in her left hand.

"Sit next to me."

Dani's stoic expression cracked in the longer-than-average pause. " _Mistress--_ "

"Dani!" She hissed. How she _hated_ when he called her that. "Your place is _by my side!_ "

He hesitated, hand trembling. His gaze flickered to the half-shadowed Brother a few feet away, who gave him a reassuring nod. Only then did he set the cushion directly to her side--maybe a few inches _behind,_ the cretin--and sat down next to her.

Amelie took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. _"Thank you."_

She turned towards the awaiting Brother, who hadn't shown any signs of contempt or hesitation. She wasn't all that surprised, really; the Temple, despite its teachings, valued the same equality of stature that the Society did, even clothing them in the same garb. True, men could only speak when spoken to, but the garb and extension of status _was_ a start, even if Dani wouldn't acknowledge it just yet. She couldn't quite tell, due to the dark shadows cast across his thin, boyish form, but there was _something_ wrong with his face.

"Amelie Greystone and her _partner_ Dani Greystone have come seeking your blessing, Brother." A tiny rebellion, but one that meant the world to her. Words were just as important as actions, after all, and _partner,_ too, was a start. She could feel Dani wither under the weight of her words. No matter. He'd get used to it eventually. After all, he was already calling her _partner_ at home.

With a huff, she set the bundle of cords upon the table, loosely organizing them with her throbbing, swollen fingers. The Ardent reached forward with normal-looking hands and began to tie them to the metal ring.

"Pleased to meet you, Amelie and Dani." His voice was calm, though the slight hint of a lisp caught on a few syllables. "My name is Enni, and I am an Ardent of Erik, son of Initiative."

_Initiative,_ she mused. _So he's smart. What a waste that he's here doing blessings and not doing something better with his mind, like the women of his color._

Once the cords were tied off, the Brother sat back to allow the couple to begin work. Hesitantly, Dani leaned forward, copying Amelie's motions as she reached for the cords. Outermost across innermost, then middle across to the left, passing to Dani. They pulled the stitch tight against the start, then continued once more, outermost across innermost, then middle across to the right, passing back to Amelie. Again, they pulled it tight.

As they carefully braided the blessing, the Brother began to pray. "First, we call upon Mara, Goddess of Creation. Great Sister, divine artist of life, bless these followers with all the grace You can spare. Let Your power fill her breath, her bosom, her belly, and stoke the forges of creation within her."

Amelie glanced over to Dani. His momentary anxiety seemed to have faded, for he was absolutely fixated on braiding the blessing. His attention to detail was quite endearing, really, and she felt a light blush come to her cheeks.

"Next, we call upon Telene, Goddess of Integrity. Great Sister, divine herder of humanity, bless these followers with all the nobility You can spare. Let Your power stir within her womb, granting her child the qualities our world needs most to succeed in the battle against the Great Undoer."

His thick fingers brushed against hers as they traded strands once more, pulling and tugging with great care. He was all anyone would want in a man, diligent, bold, beautiful, and obedient to a fault, but Amelie knew he was so much more than that. All men were, and she would convince him of that yet. He was strong, honest, creative, _intelligent,_ perhaps even more so than herself.

"Next, we call upon Regis, Goddess of Diligence. Great Sister, divine traveler of toil, bless these followers with all the perseverance You can spare. Let Your power soothe her soul, temper her mind, and fortify her for the great tribulations ahead of her."

There was something so intimate about this braiding. If Amelie were more devout, she would feel ashamed for how aroused the mere act of knitting cords was starting to make her. Perhaps she'd see if Dani was feeling the same way when they returned home. He'd become remarkably open about his sexual interests lately, despite his initial misgivings. When he'd admitted to her his greatest secret--that he wanted to fuck _her_ keeper's hole--she knew he'd come around to the teachings of the Society.

"Next, we call upon Pheris, Goddess of Strength. Great Sister, divine smith of health, bless these followers with all the fortitude you can spare. Let Your power flood through her muscles, pool in her blood, rise and fall with each heave of her chest." 

Gods, did she love him. More than anything in the world. It gave her great peace of mind to know the father of her child, however devalued by society and the state's graders, was a man of such grand character and intelligence. No matter what anyone might say or think, she knew she had done the right thing. After all, if the Mother had five daughters and five sons, did that not imply that she valued them equally? If men were lesser, would she not have less sons?

Her fingers reached the end of the strand, as did Dani's. Just in time, too, as all the colors were now accounted for. They leaned away from the table in tandem, waiting for the Ardent to tie the final knot and release them. 

"Next..." He continued, drawing the couple's eyes up in surprise. "we call upon Omer, God of Fastidiousness."

Amelie glanced to Dani, who met her gaze with similar shock.

"Great Brother, architect of structure, bless these followers with all the wisdom You can spare. Let Your power guide their thoughts, their actions, each and every step, as they stride forward together to create something great and efficient."

Only then did the Ardent lean forward to finish the braid, tucking the ends in and around one another, then cleanly slicing the ends with a knife he procured from beneath the table. When it was done, he slid it forward towards Amelie, leaning just close enough for the light to catch on his lopsided smile and half-sunken face.

"Just as all lives are bound together, so, too, are the Great Goddesses and Gods whose virtues we strive to fulfill." He sat back onto his cushion, retreating to the shadows. "Go with their blessing, Mother and Brother."

Amelie shook herself out of her daze. "And-- and you as well, Brother." She stammered, bowing her head. Dani copied her gesture, then shifted into a half-standing position, offering her a stable hand to help her rise.

It wasn't until they'd left the Temple halls and were halfway across the gardens that either spoke, and it was Dani who broke the silence.

"He gave us the blessing of a Brother." He murmured slowly, fingers brushing over the completed blessing braid. "But it was a blessing for you."

Amelie was grinning already. "Are women not worthy of the blessing of one of the Divine Gods? Is He not greater than I am?"

"Well, of course, but..." Dani sighed and furrowed his brow. "I'm not sure."

She patted his forearm, then leaned down to rest her head against his bicep. "I was _glad_ to have received it. The Ardent _knew_ I would treasure it. He saw how I asked you to join me as an equal. He knew."

Dani frowned. "He _was_ an Ardent of one of the divine gods. Perhaps he just wanted to serve a god of his gender."

"I'm not so sure about that. An Ardent wouldn't do that during a blessing."

"For someone so dismissive of the Church's teachings," he mumbled, "you sure insist to know _this_ is true."

"Come on, I--"

"Amelie! Dani!"

Before Amelie could retort, a voice calling across the gardens grabbed her attention. The inclusion of her kept man's name in the casual greeting was all she needed to know about the philosophy of the woman striding her way.

"Oh, Isabelle! What a pleasant surprise."

The tall, dark-haired woman -- Isabelle Wellsfield -- quickly closed the distance between them and caught Amelie's hand in hers. "Here for your blessing, love?"

Her finger quickly pressed the symbol of the Society into her palm. A formality, really, given how infamous Isabelle was within the Women’s Society for the Promotion of Men. Despite not wishing to be an elected member, she was one of the most progressive of the group, to the point where a few members quietly discussed their distaste for her choice of lifestyle. Sure, many women--including Amelie--refused to make their men wear chastity devices, but Isabelle took it a step further by fashioning one for _herself_ to wear.

"Yes, we've just finished." Amelie glanced over to Dani, who lifted the braid for the other woman to inspect.

"Ah, thank you, Master." She bowed her head to the kept man. Amelie tried her best not to gag. _What a godsdamned show-off._

Dani looked equally uncomfortable, stuffing the braid into his skirt pocket very quickly afterwards and refusing to reply with any more than a "thank you" of his own.

Isabella was undeterred, though Amelie was sure she simply didn't pick up on his reaction. "Will you be attending the meeting tomorrow evening?"

"Of course." Amelie hadn't missed a meeting in four years.

"Oh, wonderful! What discussion topic are you going to propose?"

Dani shuffled nervously by her side. Best to make this quick, lest he shrink back into his submissive self.

"The Office of Welfare has handled quite a few cases of kept man abuse in the past weeks," she began softly, "and many of them involve women of high status and men of high grades."

Isabella's cheer soured slightly. "That's awful. I hope you are doing your best to seek justice for these men?"

"Of course. They have been transferred out of their care, but it has been difficult convincing the Office of Justice to press charges against these women. Out of six cases, only two involved an arrest, and one only because the woman's young daughter witnessed the abuse."

The dark-haired woman averted her eyes. At least now Dani wasn't the only uncomfortable one. "When will this world get better? I fear our best efforts are in vain."

"Perhaps a topic to discuss at the Society meeting?" _Perhaps you could stop talking to me, so I can waddle down these infernal steps and lie down?_

"An excellent idea, dear sister." She reached for Amelie's hand again and gave it a squeeze. "I'd best get going. I'll see you tomorrow!"

With that, the storm of a woman vanished as quickly as she'd appeared. Amelie let out a less-than-restrained sigh and continued through the garden. A few quiet moments later, and Dani's grip on her arm was relaxing, too.

"Amie," he murmured, "please promise me you will never be like that woman."

Amelie snorted and patted Dani's shoulder. "Don't you worry, I will _never_ stoop to her level."

He glanced up at her, then back to the approaching steps. "Marylen's man Ingris said that she lets her men chain her up and beat her." Another shifty glance. "Is that true?"

She groaned. "Most likely."

"I also heard she's drinking as much lemon juice as she can stomach."

"Why in the void is she doing that?"

"She wants to have a son."

Juicy gossip, but now, it was Amelie's turn to feel uncomfortable.

"What a damn show-off."

Dani chuckled under his breath. "Agreed."

He held out his arm to assist her down the steps as Amelie's discomfort turned to guilt. Isabella was a show-off, yes, in the worst ways, too, but regrettably, she was far more principled than Amelie herself.

After all, despite her membership in the society, despite all her words, despite her low opinion of the church, the cowardice in her heart, the compulsion to conform, and the creeping fear for her own future forced her to sincerely pray during her blessing:

_Please, Mother, give me a daughter._


	13. ASIDE: Downgrade

Like the well-trained man he was, Feris came on command.

The moment the Mistress barked her order from the sofa, he unclenched his muscles, allowing the spike of pleasure from his rear to dismantle him entirely. He clenched his jaw shut out of habit, though he no longer needed to muffle his voice. Thick dribbles of seed leaked from his still-bound cock, wetting the soft, quality-felt towel beneath him. Sweat trickled down his temple and slid down his nose to wet the fine rug beneath his cheek. As his release ebbed, he finally found the strength to take a deep, calming breath, one that soothed his still-quivering muscles.

With another order, the man behind him pulled the milking tool from his Keeper's hole, then rose to his feet, leaving Feris fully prostrated on the rug, face down, rear properly presented. Padding footsteps sent soft vibrations through the floor as Eli exited the Mistress' lounge.

Despite everything he'd experienced over the past two months, a pang of fear twisted at his stomach. Alone with the Mistress after being milked only meant one thing: _pain._ Pain that he deserved. Pain that she would deliver. The pain was constant, _known--_ but the delivery was not.

_It's alright. You're just afraid of the unknown,_ he thought in a desperate attempt to soothe himself. _This will be over soon, and you will be back in your warm bed._

It was just beginning to work when the Mistress rose to her feet, sending his heart pounding all over again.

"Are you satisfied, Feris?" Mistress Yelenia's voice, while sweet, hinted at the tension she hid behind her sharp, feminine features. In contrast to the naked man on the floor, she was clothed up to the neck, finely-tailored trousers and blouse following every one of her sharp angles with minuscule precision. The gold-and-sapphire necklace around her neck was adorned with six keys, one for each of the Grade AA men she kept--and one for the newly-minted Grade B upon the floor.

Feris knew better than to respond. He was no longer allowed to speak to her without permission. So, as she stepped closer, he pressed his palms to the rug and lifted his head--and gaze--to meet hers.

Her smug expression shifted to rage in an instant.

"Did I _tell_ you to get up, _trash?_ "

The sole of her leather loafer crushed his skull to the ground with a _thunk,_ drawing a quiet gasp from his traitorous lips. 

"You'd think you'd be more obedient after I graciously allowed you to soil my belongings." Her foot slipped slightly on the velvet-soft hair on the side of his head, shorn close to the skin. Nevertheless, she slid it back into position and ground his cheek into the rug below. "And here I thought you knew your virtues. Worthless _garbage."_

She lifted her foot from him, only to drive it into his ribs with a hard kick. The force sent him careening onto his side with another restrained gasp. He knew better than to move or reposition himself. Any movement was disobedience. He would let her do what she wanted.

_When she's done, you'll be back in your warm bed._

The _clink_ of metal forced his eyes open. The Mistress drew the flame of the lighter to the tip of a cigarette and lit it. Surprisingly, the fear didn't come. He knew how burns felt. He could endure it.

Yelenia took a long drag, then puffed the smoke out into the air. Her eyes regarded the man on the floor with scorn. "Stop staring."

He averted his gaze, choosing instead to stare at the tapping toe of her shoe. The Mistress was fond of kicking him. Mentally, he prepared himself for the next blow, knowing that if he tensed up physically, it would only make things worse. The sooner she grew bored of him, the sooner he would be back in that soft bed.

"Eli told me you were tasked with cleaning the tea room today." She mumbled around her cigarette. "He assured me you'd been very thorough, but he failed to spot the large cobweb behind the tea cabinet. As did you."

Feris's gaze fuzzed as he drifted into his thoughts. He'd cleaned the back of the tea cabinet. It was spotless. There wasn't a speck of dust or dirt or cobweb on _anything_ in that room. The Mistress just needed a reason to hurt him.

_It's fine,_ he reassured himself. _Just let her do what she needs to do and you'll be safe._

Sure enough, the Mistress pulled her dominant leg back, then thrust the toe of her shoe into his exposed gut. The blow forced the air from his lungs, leaving him choking for breath. Still, he did not cry out or squeeze his eyes shut. The less he reacted, the sooner she would be done with him.

At least, that was how it worked most nights.

"Do you have nothing to say for yourself?!" She barked, driving another kick into his still-bruised ribs. This time, he coughed out a groan, one that was just barely audible. Another kick caught him on the ear, then his jaw as his body curled forward instinctively to defend himself. This, of course, was the wrong move, as the Mistress grabbed at the long tuft of hair atop his head and yanked him belly-up once more.

Feris cracked open his eyes to glimpse her face. Rage was painted over her features, tense in her jaw and snarling teeth. As their gazes connected, she drove the back of his head into the floor.

"I've no use for a man who cannot properly _serve!"_

Yelenia's nails tore into his scalp. He closed his eyes and did his best to endure it, but when the red-hot tip of her cigarette crushed into the burn from the day before, he couldn't help but let out a quiet cry. Tears swelled in his eyes, though he willed them to stop. The more he cried, the more she wanted to hurt him. He needed to stop. He needed to stay calm. The pain was throbbing, but fading. He could endure. He _had_ to endure.

"Pathetic."

The Mistress let go of his head and walked briskly away from him, leaving him on his back, chest heaving with each gasping breath. His mind urged him to rub at his wounds, to soothe himself in the only ways it knew how, but he knew any movement would mean more punishment. Whatever she was going to do to him, he could endure. 

Her shoes shuffled off the rug to tap against the fine wooden floor, then sweep against the clay tile near the fireplace. The sound was replaced by the clinking of iron--she was handling the pokers and tongs--and his fear began to ease. She'd beaten him with the poker before. It hurt, and left a few massive bruises on the back of his thighs, but they'd healed. He could take a beating. He could endure. He _had_ to endure.

"Let's see if you're feeling more obedient today." Yelenia called. "Sit up and look at me."

Feris obeyed without hesitation, pulling himself up onto his knees and setting his hands atop his lap. The Mistress was turned towards him now, heavy iron poker in her hands. She wanted to play a game. The same game she always wanted to play with him, one he would never win, no matter how badly she wanted him to.

"You know what your reward will be if you answer correctly."

_A reprieve._ She'd told him a hundred times, every single night since he'd received his final grading. Feris knew he would never earn it, but there was still some small, hopeful part of him who thought maybe, just _maybe,_ he'd be able to win tonight, even if it was a fluke.

Yelenia tapped the poker against her palm. "And you know what your punishment will be if you disobey. Is that clear?"

_Crystal._ He knew better than to speak, so he simply nodded, keeping his eyes set on her hands.

"Very well."

She lowered the poker to the ground, then raised her free hand and made a fist.

"Is my thumb _inside,_ or _outside_ my fist?"

Feris stared at her hand. He tried his best not to squint. She'd beaten him for squinting before. It was so _hard_ to make out. At this distance, her outline was fuzzy, her eyes were nothing more than dark dots, and her fist was a blur of flesh-colored light. He could see it swaying as she held it in the air, but the lines and shadows of her fingers were nonexistent. If she were just a little closer, if she would let him squint, if his eyes were just a _bit_ better...

He licked his lips and guessed, croaking out a quiet answer. "Inside, Mistress."

She gave no reaction. Her hand opened, then closed.

"And now?"

He'd guessed right. Now he just had to guess right again.

"Inside, Mistress."

She let out a quiet huff. "Good."

_Good._ She said he was good. Thank the Gods, he'd guessed right. Maybe she'd stop. Maybe she'd let him--

"One more. Show me you can obey."

Feris bit his tongue. He was too hopeful. Hope lead to fear. He had to get this right. He recited a split-second prayer in his mind, begging the Gods to guide him to the right answer one more time.

"Out--Outside, Mistress."

Yelenia took a deep breath, then exhaled.

"Feris."

No. Oh, no.

"You _still_ insist on disobeying? On toying with me?"

His heart began to beat faster. He couldn't show her a reaction. She'd beat him, then leave him alone. He could endure. He had to endure.

"Do you despise me that much?" Her voice rose from a hiss to a shout.

He didn't hate her. There was a time when he loved her. Perhaps he still did. Maybe that was why he could endure.

She marched towards him, poker swinging into the air.

"How many _lessons--_ "

Yelenia struck him in the shoulder with the iron bar, then raised her foot to shove him backwards.

"--must I _teach_ you--"

The next blow _thunked_ against his ribs.

"--for you to _obey?!"_

Another caught his forearm as it rose to protect his face. Immediately, he knew it was the wrong reaction, as her foot slammed into his belly, then the metal cage protecting his manhood. Blow after blow, and still she didn't let up. This was worse than usual. He'd guessed right too many times, and now, she was angrier than ever before. If only he'd guessed _wrong._

Finally, she stepped away from him, panting and seething. Instead of tossing her blunt instrument of choice to the side and ordering him to leave, however, she strode back towards the fireplace.

"You're just too _used_ to this. No matter." She mumbled to herself, shuffling to a halt on the clay tile. "I'll get you to obey. You'll obey, all right."

Fear and uncertainty filling his mind, Feris forced his obedient muscles to turn his head to the side, just to see what she was doing. To see _if_ she was doing what he _really hoped_ she _wasn't._

Though she was still blurry, he could make out the thrusting motion of her right arm, stirring up the coals with the poker she'd just beaten him with. Before he could fathom what she would do with it, she was barking more orders.

"On your back, _trash._ " Yelenia didn't even bother casting a look over her shoulder. "Spread your legs."

Feris obeyed, but the fear was there, driving his heart to race, his fingers to grow sweaty. He craned his neck to watch as she pulled the glowing-hot poker from the fire and turned to him.

"Hands under your knees."

Trembling, he did as she asked, wrapping his palms under his thighs.

"Look at me." Her free hand raised into the air and made a fist. "Inside or outside?"

He had to guess right. He _had_ to.

_Mother, please, protect me._

"Inside."

The Mistress stalked forward.

Fear drove away all semblance of common sense.

"Please--please, Mistress!" He gasped, freezing in place, even as his mouth began to run away. "I can't see it, I truly can't, please, please don't--"

Her free hand clutched at his thigh, just above his shaking knee.

"You'll _learn_ to _obey."_ She growled.

Then, she pressed the red-hot poker to his inner thigh.

* * *

When Feris came to, he was lying atop his bed. A cloth dabbing at his temple tickled at his aching skin, forcing him to crack open an eye.

"Are you alright?" Eli murmured softly, wiping the rest of his sweat from his brow. "Don't move, we're not done yet. Rin went to fetch more bandages."

Thank the Gods, he was alive. The thought drew tears from his eyes as they squeezed shut. He was too tired to respond, so instead, he gave Eli the smallest of nods.

The other black-haired man let out a pleased hum and ran a calming hand over Feris' head, combing through the sweaty tuft of hair that ran from forehead to nape. "She was angry tonight."

He nodded again.

"Did she test your sight again?"

Another nod.

Eli sighed and leaned back, chair creaking under his weight. "I'm so sorry, Feris. I--I tried to explain it to her, but she won't listen."

"She'll never listen."

A new voice chimed from across the bedroom, gruff and dark.

Eli hissed a reply. "Rin! Don't say that!"

"It's true." Rin, the Mistress' second kept man, and father to her third daughter, spoke up--no, he was moving closer. "She's stubborn as a horse. Nothing we say can convince her she's wrong. It'll be better if we convince her to get rid of him."

"Rin!"

"What, you want her to beat him to death?" He scoffed. "Because that's what's going to happen."

"She's not _that_ cruel!"

"How can you say that after what she did to his _leg,_ Eli?" 

A finger jabbed into the side of Feris' thigh, drawing a gasp and a tensing of muscles, which only aggravated the bandaged-up wound even more.

At least Rin had the heart to apologize. "Shit, sorry. But seriously."

For once, Eli didn't have a response. The chair creaked as he adjusted his weight.

"I could reach out to my tutor," Rin whispered. "See if there's another double-A man who needs placement and convince her to take Feris away."

"We can't just--just _abandon_ him to some other woman!" Eli hissed back. "What if she's _worse?"_

"Worse than Yelenia treats him?"

"Rin--"

The door crashed open, drawing the gaze of the bickering men. Even Feris cracked open an eye to see what the ruckus was. Luckily, it wasn't the Mistress, but the other three men filing into their shared bedroom.

"You scared the shit out of us, useless idiots!" Rin barked under his breath.

The culprit--the youngest of the six, Giri, a long-haired, bright-eyed eighteen-year-old--smiled sheepishly and tiptoed the rest of the way to Feris' bedside. "Sorry, I didn't realize it was that loud."

Following closely behind him was the oldest and twice-bred man, Laci, still drying his hands on a towel. "The Mistress is sound asleep. One would hope she is, after the pleasurings we gave her."

"Thank the Gods she finishes fast." Zave, the final member of the half-dozen, chimed. 

Eli leaned forward, hands clasped in his lap. "Did she take anyone's seed tonight?"

Laci shook his head. "Not tonight. I still think it's a bit early."

"I see." Eli sighed. "Let's hope she does soon, so Feris can have a bit of a reprieve."

"You think a baby belly will keep her from beating the shit out of him?" Zave scoffed, crossing the room to sit on the edge of his own bed. "She'll probably just get one of us to do it."

"Zave!"

"You know it's true." He kicked off his shoes and slumped backwards onto the plush goosedown mattress. "She gets you to milk him. She'll probably ask you to do it."

Eli cringed, then looked to Feris. "I wouldn't. I'd let her beat me before I beat you."

"I'd do it."

All eyes turned to Rin, who stood, arms folded, next to Eli.

"Rin--"

"Don't pretend you wouldn't do the same. If she came at you with a hot poker?" He huffed. "You'd be more than happy to make him bleed."

The chair toppled over as Eli jumped to his feet and snatched at Rin's collar.

"Don't you _dare_ imply that I'd ever--"

"Please, you're too much of a _coward_ to--"

An arm jutted between the two as Laci stepped in. "Stop. Save it for tomorrow."

Eli stepped back, but opened his mouth to retort. "But he--"

" _Tomorrow._ " Laci insisted, placing a hand on Eli's chest. "Thank you for taking care of Feris. We'll discuss what course of action to take tomorrow." He glanced to Rin, who was still seething. "One that _doesn't_ involve any of us beating poor Feris."

Rin scoffed and stalked away towards his bed. Giri and Zave followed his lead, murmuring quiet reassurances to their injured companion.

This time, it was Feris who felt the need to break the tension. He parted his lips and wet his throat. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

Eli's hands flew to grasp his own, squeezing tightly as he fell to his knees at Feris' bedside. "Please, don't be, Feris. It's not your fault. You don't deserve this treatment at all. I promise, I'll never, _ever_ hurt you, even if she tells me to, alright?"

Feris nodded, eyes drifting towards the older man still standing, who placed a hand on Eli's shoulder.

"Let's let Feris rest, yes?" He glanced to Feris and smiled. "We'll cover for your chores in the morning. I don't want you walking until that wound closes up."

He nodded again. "Y-yes, Laci."

Laci leaned in to kiss Eli's temple, then lower to do the same to Feris. "May the Mother bless you with sweet dreams."

Eli rose to follow after him, but not before planting a soft kiss of his own to Eli's forehead. "I'll change your bandages in the morning."

"Alright." Feris croaked.

With all six men snugly in their beds, and the lamplights extinguished, cold, crisp silence filled the room. Without the distractions of his kept brothers, the throbbing pain from earlier seemed all too loud. Each heartbeat was like a drum between his ears, banging at the bruises on his shoulder, his ribs, his head. When he shifted his legs, red-hot fire spiked up and under the bandages on his thigh. The poker was gone, but the heat remained. Every beat of the drum echoed a reminder, a thought, a prayer.

_I must obey._

Feris grit his teeth.

_I'm obeying as best I can._

His breath caught in his throat.

_Please, Mother, heal my eyes._

At long last, he allowed himself to sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, sorry for the hiatus! I may or may not have taken a deep dive into Detroit: Become Human and squeezed out 90,000 words of slight femdom fic. (Give it a read if you want to top a cute robot!)
> 
> I was planning on saving this aside after the next five chapters of the main story, but when I was having issues jumping back into the main story, I ended up finishing this aside to get the juices flowing again.
> 
> I've got a good bunch planned out for this fic, so don't worry, it's not going anywhere!
> 
> As always, you can find me on the Femdom Ecosystem Discord (18+, not a dating server, god dammit.)  
> https://discord.gg/ty8ey2K


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